Anyone Else But You
by SpyKid18
Summary: It was just her luck that the guy she chose to drunkenly kiss was society's cad, Logan Huntzberger. ROGAN.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know, a new story. What can I say? It is the summer and I have writing ADD. I hope you like it :-)**

She Took Me By Surprise

I am sitting in my dorm room surrounded by pints of ice cream, trashy magazines, and about eighty used tissues. "One Life To Live" is on the television in front of me and I am crying irrationally at the Cole/Starr storyline. Paris walks in, takes one look at me, and then starts with the comments. They begin under her breath and steadily increase in volume until I can barely hear the television.

"You are pathetic," she says.

"I am wallowing," I retort and turn up the volume.

"You're crying at a soap opera," she continues, "pathetic."

"It's sad," I argue, sniffling a bit. "It's so sad that drugs had to come between Cole and Starr. They were the perfect couple."

"They're sixteen," she articulates, grabbing the remote from my hand despite my efforts to fend her off.

I had forgotten how slow my reflexes became during periods of wallowing.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You're twenty-one," she tells me. "Which means, you should not be crying over a sixteen year old's relationship woes."

"Whatever."

"Anyway, you've been doing this wallowing thing for way too long. Tristan broke up with you, what, two weeks ago?"

"I'm in mourning," I spit.

"No, you are just letting him get to you. Which is ridiculous, considering that it is Tristan Dugrey."

"You liked him at Chilton," I point out irrationally.

"Yes, I did. But then I found a real man."

"Doyle?" I spit out.

"Yes," she replies haughtily. "Doyle. And speaking of Doyle, you are going with us to a bar tonight."

"Oh, no I am not."

"Yes, you are."

I shake my head again and she warns, "Do you want me to call Lorelai and tell her that you are wallowing for over a week because of Douchebag Dugrey?"

I wince and avoid her gaze. My mom never liked Tristan. In fact, she had told me several times, explicitly, just how much she did not like Tristan. If she knew how much I was wallowing, she would come right over here and do much worse than drag me to a bar.

Think along the lines of forced viewings of Road House and male strippers.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll go with you and Doyle."

She smiles contently and leaves.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I hate bars.

I hate the distinct yeasty smell and the way that the walls always look like they need a good cleaning. The music is always a bit too loud and I always manage to get some hand graze a part of my body that it shouldn't. Going to a bar with Paris makes everything eight times worse. She keeps looking at me to make sure I'm not brooding and I've given so many fake smiles that my cheeks are beginning to throb.

After a particularly unenthusiastic smile Doyle says, "Lighten up, Gilmore. There is no place like a bar to forget about your worries."

"How about a dorm room with lots of Nora Ephron?"

"I don't get that," Doyle says. "Why watch unrealistic love stories when your own love life is in shambles? It sounds like torture."

"Oh my God, you're right," I mumble, beginning to feel dizzy. "I need a drink."

"I'll get it," Paris says authoritatively. "I know the lingo here."

She stalks over to the bar and yells, "Hey bud, give me a Dirty Alley straight up with a twist. Oh, and you'd better put it on the rocks."

The bartender nods and I ask, "Paris, what did you just order me?"

"The official end to your wallowing," she says. "This thing is so strong Alec Baldwin could get drunk from the fumes."

"Oh," I say. "Perfect."

"Dirty Alley," the bartender says gruffly, pushing the drink towards Paris. She takes it and hands it to me triumphantly. Gingerly I take a sip, wincing as it burns my throat.

"It's better to just take it down," Paris advises.

Against my better judgment I hit it hard and deal with the burning sensation now spreading to my chest. Paris nods appreciatively.

"You're feeling better already, aren't you?"

I would've answered but at that moment I catch sight of Tristan over by one of the game machines that only takes quarters and I feel like the floor is falling out from under me. I must have stumbled because Doyle quickly grabs my arm and mumbles, "Maybe she wasn't ready for the Dirty Alley, Paris."

"He's here," I breath out, the room spinning so quickly that I feel as if I'm caught in a dryer. Round and round I go, and I keep tumbling and hitting the sides.

"Shit," Paris says, following my gaze. "Well, now is the perfect time to show him how completey over him you are."

"But I'm not," I tell her. "I'm not ready."

"Now or never," she says harshly, softening it with, "And I promise, if he even tries to flirt with you, I will hit him in the jugular. I learned precisely where that was yesterday, so I could do some real damage."

"No," I say softly, shaking my head. "No hitting his jugular. I'm fine."

"That's the spirit," she says. "Alright, come on Doyle, I want to dance."

Before I can protest she drags Doyle to the dancefloor and I see Tristan begin to walk towards me. I tell myself that he doesn't see me but then he looks right at me and gives me our little smile and I begin to panic. Really panic.

"Paris," I call out, but she's too busy dancing with Doyle to see my current situation.

I look back at Tristan and feel the air sucked out of me when I notice there is a girl next to him. She is petite with long blonde hair, everything that I'm not. They're almost in front of me and before I know what I'm doing I grab the nearest guy and plead, "Just play along."

My lips crash to his and I wrap my arms around his neck. I open my eyes to see Tristan looking like a deer caught in headlights and pull away from the guy who has just become my hero.

"Tristan," I say in a surprised tone, holding onto the guy beside me with a death grip. "How are you?"

"I'm, uh, good."

I give him my most beguiling smile and say, "This is my boyfriend-"

"Logan Huntzberger," Tristan finishes.

My mouth goes dry as the guy beside me answers, "In the flesh."

I look up at the man whose name I just learned was Logan and feel my stomach drop as I realize just whose hand I am holding.

Logan Huntzberger.

Son of Shira and Mitchum Huntzberger

Oh dear.

"I never took you for a girlfriend type," Tristan says.

"What can I say?" Logan replies, giving my hand a quick squeeze. "She took me by surprise."

"Same here," I mumble.

"So, how did you two meet?" Tristan asks.

I frantically begin to concoct a story when Logan smoothly says, "One of my famous parties."

"I never took you for a party girl, Mary," Tristan says.

I bristle at the use of his petname for me and icily respond, "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Tristan."

"Well, we better be on our way," Logan says, looking down and giving me a smile that turns my stomach. "Finn and Colin are waiting."

"It was nice seeing you, Rory."

I nod. "You, too."

Logan and I walk off and the moment that we are out of Tristan's sight I drop his hand.

"I can't believe this," I mutter.

"What?"

"You're Logan Huntzberger?"

He nods.

"I can't believe this," I repeat.

"What's not to believe?" He asks with an easy grin.

There was a lot not to believe. For starters, how I had ended up grabbing the infamous cad of society. My grandparents had warned me about him since I was in grade school.

_"That boy is nothing but trouble," my grandfather would tell me over perfectly cooked cornish hens. _

_ My grandmother would nod and then note, "Remember what he did to our poolhouse, Richard? Wretched boy."_

"You trashed my grandparent's pool house," I accuse, shaking my head. "I cannot believe this."

"Excuse me?"

I blanche as I remember my lips pressing firmly to his. "Oh my God, I kissed you."

"Who exactly are you?"

I look him squarely in the eye and answer, "Rory Gilmore."

He doesn't answer for a moment and then begins to laugh. I glare at him and ask, "Is there something funny?"

"This _is_ unbelievable," he says between chuckles. "You're Rory Gilmore?"

"In the flesh," I mock irritably.

"You're right, I did trash your grandparent's pool house," he says after a moment and when I scowl he adds, "I also sent a cleaning service the next day. You failed to mention that."

"Of course you would send a cleaning service," I spit. "You solve everything with money. I know about you."

"Oh, you do?"

"I heard about how you crashed a boat that you stole and had to have your sister bail you out."

"What can I say, Honor is very honorable."

"People like you disgust me," I say, my tongue loose from the Dirty Alley.

Someone appears beside Logan, looks at me for a moment and then asks, "Huntz, who is this?"

"Apparently, she's my girlfriend," he answers with a grin.

"Your girlfriend? I think I need more to drink."

"Colin, this is Rory."

"I'm leaving," I announce, turning to leave and gracefully tripping over nothing in particular. A pair of strong arms encircle my waist and I find my face too close to Logan's once again.

"Whoah there," he says, straightening me up. "It's a good thing you have your boyfriend here to look after you."

I pout but his arm around my waist keeps me from going anywhere. And to be completely honest, that damn drink was pretty strong and I don't feel like moving much anyway.

"I'm going to sit this one down," Logan tells Colin, to which the latter replies, "I am going to get this one, meaning myself, more alcohol."

Logan grins and says, "Go to it, Colin."

"I hate you," I tell him once I am seated.

"Is this really the way to speak to your boyfriend?"

"You're not my boyfriend," I shoot back irritably.

"That's not what you told Dugrey back there," he reasons. "Wait, let me guess, you used me to make him jealous."

He laughs as I cross my arms over my chest.

"Don't tell me that you like that guy."

"He's my ex," I tell him. "He broke up with me."

"Well, you're better off without him."

Bristling at his tone I answer, "You're not fit to shine his shoes."

"So, I'm guessing you're not over him, Scarlett O'Hara."

After a moment, I straighten up and ask, "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just a feeling."

"I am perfectly over him," I tell him, crossing my arms sloppily over my chest as I look around quickly for the man in question. I see him over with his midget blonde and feel nauseous. Logan follows my gaze and answers, "Oh yeah, you are definitely over him."

He sits down next to me and before I can even process what is going on he presses his lips to mine. His hand is caressing my cheek and I find myself kissing back.

Damn Dirty Alley.

"What are you doing?" I demand after I pulled away.

"Making your ex jealous."

I turn me eyes to Tristan and find him staring at me. His mouth is pursed into a deep frown.

Huh.

"Do you want him back or not?"

I consider saying no, telling him he was crazy, but instead I dipped my head down into a nod.

"Then you should kiss me."

"What?"

He says, "Trust me."

And in my drunken state, I do. I lean forward and press my lips to his. To his credit he doesn't try to part my lips, but he does gently move his hand to my waist, which I consider to be taking things too far, so I pull away.

"Relax," he tells me. "It's working."

I look at Tristan and wince when I see his tongue shoved down the throat of the small blonde.

"How is this working?" I complain. "Look at him."

"Take it from a guy, this is working."

I see Paris coming and quickly mumble, "I'm sorry."

He looks at me oddly. "For what?"

"Now you have to trust me."

"How did you manage to get felt up by Huntzberger?" Paris asks, appearing beside me. "Didn't your grandparents teach you anything?"

"Paris Gellar," Logan says with a tight smile. "How are you?"

"Oh, just peachy."

"Oh my God," Doyle says, coming up behind Paris. "It's you."

"Doyle, my man, how are you?"

"How is it that you all have met him but I hadn't?" I ask, completely befuddled.

"What do you mean we hadn't met?" Logan asks with a grin. "I'm your boyfriend."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Doyle blurts out.

"I want to go home," I say, ignoring both men and appealing to Paris.

"I agree, this place blows."

I stand up and say, "Doyle, we're leaving."

"What? No goodbye kiss for your boyfriend?" Logan asks as I turn without acknowledging him once. Following a split second decision, I face him and give him a quick slap across the face. He rubs his jaw in surprise and asks, "What the hell was that for?"

"For making me think I wanted to get back with Tristan."

"But I'm-"

"And subsequently making me kiss you when it was entirely unnecessary."

"That makes no sense," he argues.

"She had a Dirty Alley," Paris tells him as she leads me away, as if that one sentence explained everything.

"It was a pleasure, Rory!" Logan calls after me.

As we walk back to our dorm Paris notes, "You had an interesting night, Gilmore."

"I kissed Logan Huntzberger," I tell her incredulously.

"And that means you kissed about half of Yale's female population as well."

"I'm going to vomit," I lament.

Paris grimaces and says, "I hate sick people."

"Well, then don't give people Dirty Alleys and then leave them alone to go and make-out with Logan Huntzberger," I snap, vomiting immediately after into a bush.

"She kind of has a point," Doyle says from behind me.

"I will deal with you later," Paris hisses to Doyle as she grabs my arm and pulls me from the bush. Together, the two of them walk me back to the apartment and then before I know it I am back in my room. My phone buzzes and I grope blindly for it on my nightstand. After finding it, I flip it open and read a text.

A text from Tristan.

_That was quite a slap you gave Huntz. Trouble in paradise?_

Despite my better judgment, I quickly text him back.

_Logan and I like it rough._

I realize my mistake the minute that I hit send.

_I'll make sure to tell him you said that._

Oh no.

**A/N: Since this is a new story, I need to know how you guys like it. LET ME KNOW IF I SHOULD CONTINUE! Okay? Okay.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**** I am speechless from your fabulous reviews. Thank you so much. I really appreciate you taking the time to write them. On to the story now, I will warn you that there is some Tristan/Rory in this, but remember that at the end of the day this is a ROGAN story. I will not let you down in that arena ******** Anyway, enjoy!**

Are you going to put a horse's head in my bed?

I stand in line for coffee and my foot taps impatiently on the cold pavement. The line is longer than usual and my coffee craving is at its usual intensity. Inch by inch I move closer and I can smell the heady scent.

So close.

I am one person away and as I go to step up to the kiosk, a tall redhead steps in front of me with a look that scares me a bit. Her hands are glued on her hips as she demands, "Are you Rory Gilmore?"

I nod and before I can utter one word she slaps me straight across the face. Blinking rapidly I touch my raw cheek and say, "What was that for?"

"There is a line, Gilmore. You can't just cut in the line."

I look at her like she is crazy and ask, "What line?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me. I have been in the line for a year and I will be damned if some mousey brunette takes my place."

"Look, I really have no idea what you're talking about. Now, can I please just order my coffee? Whatever line you think I'm in, I will gladly step out."

"You better," she warns when I turn to the coffee cart. "Logan will be mine. I've waited long enough."

I turn sharply and ask, "Excuse me, Logan?"

"Yes."

"Wait, all of this was about Logan," I mutter, shaking my head. "You're kidding me."

"I don't kid."

"There's a line?"

She nods.

"What is there, like, a sign up sheet or something?"

"It's an unofficial list," she says haughtily. "Everyone knows about it."

"Everyone besides me," I mumble.

"Do you want anything?" The coffee cart guy asks awkwardly. Without turning I answer, "Your largest coffee."

"You are to tell Logan that you're not interested. Otherwise, you'll have a lot more than my little ambush to worry about."

"Are you going to put a horse's head in my bed?" I joke grimly. I can tell by her blank stare that she has never seen The Godfather.

"Just do it."

She walks off and I take my coffee, which I sip without reserve. The liquid burns my throat but I still go back for more. I have a feeling I am going to need a lot of caffeine today.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I'm sitting with Paris at lunch, running a fork through the watery beef stroganoff. I had just finished telling Paris about my run-in with one of Logan's fangirls and feel eyes on me. I look around, almost relieved when I see people staring because it proves that I'm not overreacting.

They are looking.

And a lot.

"I can't believe there's a line," Paris says. "I wonder if he's worth it."

"He's not," I tell her immediately.

"Was he a good kisser?"

I am going to say no, but I hate lying so I grudgingly admit, "He was okay."

"Was there tingling?"

"What?"

Paris leans forward and says, "You know, butterflies. Were there butterflies?"

I remember a distinct fluttering in my stomach when his lips touched mine but answer, "No, no flying insects in my stomach."

"People are watching you," Paris says after a moment, looking around in confusion. "Don't tell me this is the list."

I look around and sigh. "This, Paris, is the list."

"Did she really threaten you?"

"Oh yeah, and then I made a Godfather reference that went right over her head."

"That movie probably had too many big words for her." Parish looks down at the runny beef stroganoff and sighs. "Okay, I'm going to get food that doesn't resemble moldy dirt. Are you coming?"

I shake my head and tell her, "I have class soon."

"Alright, well, enjoy your moldy dirt."

She walks away and I focus on my unsavory stroganoff.

"Rory."

I turn at the voice and frown when I see it's Logan. "Oh, you."

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"Yes," I say as he plops down in front of me.

"That question was more rhetorical than anything," he tells me with a grin.

"Right."

"So, I talked to Tristan this morning and apparently I like it rough."

I groan and drop my face into my palm. "I was hoping I didn't actually send that."

"I'm not saying you were wrong."

I glare at him and say, "I was drunk Logan. Don't read too much into anything."

"Yes, I remember, the Dirty Alley."

I nod. "Yes, one of the reasons I needed three large coffees this morning."

"Three?"

"Yeah, it's only one more than usual."

"And yet you don't have coffee drinkers' teeth. I'm impressed."

"Aquafresh with whitening," I answer.

"Brilliant. So, you want to get back with Tristan."

"What? No, that is far from the truth."

"You sent him that text, Rory. You were trying to make him jealous."

"I was drunk," I articulate.

"You know, I've read that repressed desires rear their heads when someone's drunk."

I stand up and icily tell him, "I'm getting coffee. Don't be here when I get back."

"I'll be waiting, sweetheart."

I exhale loudly and walk away to the coffee. I get myself one cup and take it back in two gulps. The coffee is terrible and usually I wouldn't even touch it but I am so bothered by Logan that I take another two cups before heading back to the table.

He's still there.

"I thought you were getting coffee," he says.

"I did."

"So, I have a proposition for you."

I sit down and frown. "Oh, goody."

"First, though, I need you to admit that you still want Tristan."

"I don't want Tristan," I tell him. "I…"

I trail off when I see Tristan walk in, his arm around another girl's waist. I remember exactly what it feels to have that arm around my waist and all at once I am remembering everything of what it's like to be with him. I'm remembering our Chinese nights and him trying to make me go for runs. I remember everything that was good and before I know what I'm doing I tell Logan, "I miss him."

"I want to help you get him back."

I look at him skeptically and ask, "Why would you do that?"

He shrugs and after waiting a few seconds for an explanation I realize that there isn't one. Shifting in my seat I ask him, "You would just do it for fun?"

"I like you."

"Logan-"

"Platonically, Rory, you're not really my type. I like you as a person and believe it or not, I'd like to see you happy. I'm sick of my serial dating and I've never had a fake girlfriend before."

"Fake girlfriend," I repeat, my eyes widening. "You mean-no."

"What did you think I meant?" He asks with a bemused smile.

"I don't know, flirting with me?"

"If this is going to work, you need more than flirting. See, look at Tristan."

I look over and swallow hard as he tucks a strand of hair behind a different girl's ear.

"You need to beat that," he tells me.

"I'm not following," I say, unable to tear my eyes from the scene that I wish I were a part of.

"He's flirting, dangling those girls in front of you. We can do something more effective, though. How do those girls make you feel?"

"Why hello Dr. Phil," I joke softly.

"Rory, I mean it."

"They, uh, make me feel bad."

"But not hopeless."

"No," I admit.

"Why not? Why don't you feel hopeless?"

I sigh and say, "Well, I guess because he's only flirting with them."

"We need to make him feel hopeless. Knock him down and he will come back to you on his knees."

"That's terrible," I say slowly, "and brilliant."

He grins. "What can I say? I'm a master at these things."

"That made perfect sense. I can't believe it."

"So, will you take my offer?"

Every instinct in me says that this entire thing is a bad idea but I find myself asking him, "How long would this take?"

"One month, tops. You'll see results in one week."

"You sound like an infomercial."

He grins and says, "Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back."

I lean back in my chair and gaze at him for a moment. My mind is conflicted until I hear Tristan's laugh.

He used to laugh like that with me.

Without any more hesitation I tell Logan, "You have one month."

RRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"You know, one of your ladies in waiting slapped me earlier," I tell Logan as he walks with me to my class. Apparently he is staring this fake-dating-thing immediately.

"One of my what?"

"Your ladies in waiting, Logan. She told me that I cut the line."

He begins to laugh and I begin to reconsider my decision to "date" him.

"You knew about the line," I say, dumbfounded.

"Yeah."

"Oh no, please do not say that you actually pick girls from it."

"Well, it's convenient."

"I'm going to be sick."

"I'm kidding," he says between bouts of laughter, slinging an arm over my shoulders. "I've heard of the line but I have no idea who is in it."

"Well, I will know pretty soon. I have been threatened. They're going to show up over my bed during the night with a machete."

"That's ridiculous," he says with a grin. "No one is going to attack you."

"She also didn't believe that you would date me. She said I was mousey." I pause and say, "You know, now that I think about it, I take offense to that."

"You're not mousey," he assures me. "I wouldn't be fake-dating you if you were."

"Ah, thanks Logan," I say with a quick eye roll.

"Well, I promise that I will protect you from my crazy ladies in waiting."

"Thank you, they were kind of scary."

"I won't let them hurt you."

We arrive at my building and I turn to him awkwardly. When I agreed to the dating, I didn't really know what I was getting into. Right now, I feel the strain. I don't know what to do with him. Do I give him a hug? Shake his hand?

"So, um, this is my building."

He grins and nods, "Okay."

"Okay, so, um.."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"No," I answer immediately.

"That would probably look good," he reasons. "We need to make it clear that we're dating."

"Right, so, we'll kiss."

He grins softly and lowers his head to mine. He stops inches from my lips and I leave him there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Finally, though, I close the distance and press my lips gently to his. He pulls away after a moment with his trademark smirk.

"Not too much now, Rory," he teases. "We don't want to burn out."

"You're an ass," I shoot back irritably.

"Which is one of the things you love about me. I told Tristan that."

"I-"

He silences me with a placating hand on my cheek. "Go to class, Rory."

This belies my sharp tongue and I turn from him and head into the building. Tristan is waiting just inside.

"So, you and Huntz are really dating," he says.

I easily answer, "Yeah."

"He's an ass."

I smile when I remember what Logan had said and tell him, "That's what I love about him."

"You love him?" Tristan asks.

"Well, figuratively speaking," I say.

"What does that even mean?"

I give what I hope looks like a noncommittal shrug because I have no idea what the hell that meant.

"How are you feeling?" Tristan asks after a moment.

"Fine, why?"

"You were pretty gone at that party last night. You get pretty bad hangovers."

My heart softens and I say, "Oh, right, I'm fine."

"Good."

We stand awkwardly by the bulletin board with flyers for things like Hygiene Club and all I want is to jump into his arms. I want to have him hold me, kiss me until I can't tell my mouth from his.

"Well," I begin softly, "I need to get to class."

"Right, you hate being late."

I nod.

"I just need to ask you something," he says quickly. "Are you happy?"

His question takes me off guard and I truthfully answer, "I'm getting by."

He nods. "Alright, well, I'll see you later."

He walks off before I can say anything. I stand there for a moment, caught up in the sadness I had seen in Tristan's eyes, and then force myself to go to class.

**A/N: What did you think? Let me just tell you, I have some fun stuff planned for the new "couple"….**

**Leave me a note so that I know that you're enjoying this ******


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter is epic. Really. It's eleven pages single-spaced. Haha. I hope you like it ******

Everyone Needs a Nickname

I am in a strange bed.

And my head feels like it was hit by an anvil.

I turn on my back and look around me. I vaguely recognize the room but I cannot place it. It's like when you see someone on the street and you can't remember if they're from your high school or college. I sit up and the night comes back to me with striking speed.

Oh no.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

_**EIGHT HOURS EARLIER**_

RLRLRLRLRLRRLRLRLRLRL

"Explain this again," Paris demands. "You are dating Logan Huntzberger?"

"He is _posing_ as my boyfriend to make Tristan jealous."

"This is by far the worst idea you have ever had."

"It's Logan's."

Paris snorts. "That explains a lot."

"Listen, it's already working. Tristan can't keep his eyes off of me whenever we're together. He's nice."

"I still don't buy it."

"It'll work. I'm going to get him back."

"I thought you didn't want him back. In fact, you gave many drunken sermons to that fact."

"I was wrong. Besides, Tristan and I worked well together."

"That you did," Paris agreed. "You were disgusting. But you worked."

"Rory Gilmore, I haven't seen you in what, nearly fifteen hours?" Logan coos, sitting next to her. "How are you?"

"Okay, you just got more disgusting," Paris announces. "Congratulations, I didn't think that was possible."

"You don't have to be so over the top," I tell him.

"What? That's how they do it in Full House."

"Are you really getting your dating advice from Full House?"

He nods. "Yes. I would trust John Stamos with my life."

"Good thing he's on ER."

"We're going to be late," Paris interrupts irritably. "So, you have about two point three minutes left to be lovey-dovey."

"Where are you going?" Logan asks.

"We're-"

"We're going to do work, Huntzberger. Some people actually do that around here."

"You really don't like me," Logan answers with a grin.

"No, I really don't."

Logan addresses me solely when he asks, "What kind of work?"

"Newspaper. The Yale Daily News."

"You know, I'm supposed to go to that thing."

"Is that _thing_ the Daily News?" Paris muses tartly.

I can sense an attack from Paris and avoid it the best that I can. I stand up while simultaneously shooting Logan a look that says _shut the hell up_. He doesn't catch on, though.

"Yeah, I meant the Daily News. My dad wants me to write on there. Get ready for my future, you know."

"You-"

"Let's go," I interrupt. "You know how Doyle gets when we're late."

"We don't have a meeting," Paris reminds me.

"You like promptness anyway. So, let's be prompt."

Paris shrugs and grabs her tray as we head out. Logan touches my arm congenially and asks, "So, are you some ace reporter or something?"

I smirk and tell him, "Sure, if that's what you want to think."

"I bet you're great. You've got the look of a great reporter."

"The look?"

"Yeah, you're pretty so you could probably sweet talk in interviews to get what you want. Yet, you look serious, too, which means that any women you are interviewing won't think you're a flake. You're pretty much the entire reporter package."

I stare at him. "That is so bol shit."

"Okay, and I read some of your stuff, too. You're good."

"You read my stuff?"

"Research," he answers with a grin. "I figured that being your boyfriend, I should have read at least one of your articles."

"Tristan never read my articles."

"Well, then he was a bad boyfriend."

I find myself unable to argue.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I run into Tristan on my way to my Communication 160 class. He looks like a deer caught in headlights when he sees me, his hand freezing inches from the doorknob that it was heading towards. I give him a small wave and he uses that same hand to wave back.

"How are you?" I ask when I reach him.

"Good. How's Huntz?"

I smile. "He's good."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

I find it hard to look at him but he doesn't move his eyes from me. I feel like he's memorizing everything about my face, my appearance. His eyes stop on the necklace around my neck.

"Nice necklace."

"You gave it to me," I answer.

"Does he mind?"

"Who?"

"Logan?"

I shake my head. "He's doesn't get jealous easily."

"Well, that's good. It looks good on you."

I nod and he stares at me for a moment more before checking his watch. "Well, I have to get going."

He walks away until I impulsively call out, "Tristan."

He turns and goes, "Yeah?"

"Why did you never read my articles?"

He looks at me strangely and then shrugs. "I don't know. You never asked."

"You didn't think you should have just read them. Being my boyfriend and all?"

He hesitates. "No, I guess I didn't."

"Okay."

"I'll see you later."

"Bye."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"Where is that fake-boyfriend of yours?" Paris asks as I walk into the newspaper office. I shoot her a look while simultaneously scolding her.

"Well, that's what he is, right? A fake-boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"You're not supposed to say it out loud. Geez."

"Whatever. Do you have your article?"

"I'm almost done," I tell her, sitting down at my desk. "I have just been swamped this week. And did you know that the coffee cart over by Bremner ran out of coffee? How does a coffee cart run out of coffee? It's ridiculous."

"Okay, I know that you can't live without the bean and all, but I need that article, Gilmore. The paper goes out in three days."

"And I will have it for you."

"Tomorrow morning," Paris demands. "I want it by tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" I offer with a small grin.

"Put away the charm, Gilmore. I'm immune to it. Tomorrow morning or I'm giving your layout space to Bill."

"You wouldn't," I gasp.

"Oh, I would. His last piece on the vegan table at Simpson was riveting."

"Paris, it was on a vegan table."

"Yes."

"Did you hear me? A vegan table."

"Well, turn your article in on time and Bill will stay with his vegan tables. Otherwise, he's moving on to the ice cream bar."

"Okay, okay, I'll turn it in by tomorrow morning."

Paris smiles. "Good. Have a nice night, Gilmore."

"Fat chance," I mutter.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"Ace," Logan says, sitting next to me in the dining hall. I look at him strangely and ask, "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes, I am."

"What's with Ace?"

"It's a nickname," he explains.

"I don't need a nickname."

"You didn't have one before, though, did you?"

"No, because I have a name that nearly everyone calls me. Therefore, the nickname is a moot point."

"Not true."

"Yes, very true."

"No, everyone needs a nickname. Think of it. Would Frank Sinatra had been the same if he weren't old "Blue Eyes"? Or FDR?"

"FDR is an anagram," she corrects.

"Which served as a nickname."

"Okay, I get your point. I still don't see why I need one."

He grins and poses the question, "Why not?"

"Okay, Ace it is. Now, why are you over here?"

"What? Can a man not come visit his girlfriend without a reason?"

"You have business eyes," I tell him.

"Excuse me?"

"It's the look you get when you need to take care of business."

"I have looks, huh?"

I nod.

"And you know them."

I roll my eyes and tell him, "Don't be too flattered. I'm just very observant."

"What other looks do I have?"

"What do you want?" I shoot back lightly.

"I am giving you an offer you can't refuse."

"Go on, Don Corleone."

"I'm throwing a party at my apartment tonight. You should come."

"I can't," I tell him immediately. "I have an article due tomorrow and I am far from being finished."

"Didn't you hear about it being an offer you can't refuse?"

"Logan, I can't go. I have no choice."

"Oh, no, you see, there is always a choice. You can either sit in your room all night tethered to your laptop, or you can come to my party."

"Logan, the answer is still no."

He sighs. "Come on, Ace."

"What, you want to flaunt our fake relationship?" I tease.

"No, I am inviting you purely as a nice gesture. A girlfriend is not necessary."

"Well, my answer is the same."

"What if I told you that you could bring your laptop? I'd make sure that my room is clear and you could work on your article a little and enjoy the party a little, too."

I shake my head. "I'd be distracted."

"The walls are sound proof."

"I don't believe you," I challenge.

"Then come and try them out."

"Look, Logan, I'd like to come. I really would, but this article is important to me."

He looks at me for a moment and I think he is going to argue more. His eyebrows are furrowed in the manner they always are when he is challenging me, but he doesn't. He surprises me by shrugging and getting up from the table.

"Alright, your loss. Have fun with your laptop."

He walks off and I have the urge to call after him. I want him to turn and look at me again. I mean, he didn't even say goodbye. A fake-boyfriend should say goodbye to his fake-girlfriend. It's common courtesy.

My phone beeps and I pull it from my pocket and read the message.

_How's the article going. Bill's latest is pretty great._

I flip it closed and scowl.

Damn Paris.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I officially hate campus safety. My story covers the new changes to campus safety. My notes are filled with training stories with a SWAT team, burglaries at the nearby 7-11, yet my article is still as boring as white bread. I can't find it in myself to blame my writing skills, so instead I blame campus security. I tell myself that campus security in its entirety in anemic. Therefore, it is understandable that my article would be, well, anemic.

After a few moments targeting security, I come to the conclusion that is indeed, myself, who is draining the story. I get up and begin pacing, trying to figure out a way-any way-to get the story written and written well.

An idea comes to me and I stop pacing, blinking rapidly.

It's a terrible idea.

Worse than Katie's idea in The Way We Were when she follows Hubbel to California. Still though-

"It's worth a shot."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

The door opens at what I hope is Logan's apartment and a dangerously drunk jock gives me a sloppy grin.

"Is this Logan Huntzberger's apartment?" I ask.

"Come in!" He slurs, taking my arm as he pulls me into the apartment. I stumble at he throws me into the apartment and he tells me, "You need to drink less, dude."

"Yes," I say. "You are right."

I'm clutching my bag to my side, the laptop inside and the guy eyes me oddly. "What's in the bag?"

"My laptop."

"An Apple or PC?"

My laptop is indeed an Apple, but I don't really know how to respond. He keeps glancing at my bag and I am never more relieved to see Logan than that moment. He grins when he sees me and comes over, kissing my cheek.

"You came."

"With my laptop," I clarify. "Is that room of yours still available."

"Logan Huntzberger!" I hear someone trill. He winces and tells me, "It is, but you will have to get past some people, first."

"What?"

A pretty blonde, who I assume was the one who called his name before, appears in front of me and grins wide. "Are you her?"

"Way to be vague, Stephanie," Logan jokes. "Steph, this is Rory."

"I can't believe it," Stephanie enthuses, pulling me into a tight hug. "I never, ever, thought Logan would end up with a girlfriend."

"Me either," Logan says.

"Is this her?" A brunette asks, wrapping his arm around Stephanie's waist.

"Yes Colin, this is Rory."

"You're very wholesome looking," Colin tells me.

"Um, thank you."

"You'll have fun corrupting this one," Colin tells Logan.

"And we're going," Logan says quickly, putting his hand on the small of my back. "Colin, Steph, it was a pleasure. Let's go, Ace."

He guides me away and says, "I'm sorry about them. They are just, surprised, I guess."

"They don't know?" I ask in a low voice.

"No, I figured that it would be simpler if I just told everyone we were dating."

"So, they think we're really dating?"

He catches my tone and assures me, "It'll be fine. We want people to believe we're dating, remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Okay, so, you can resume breathing."

I laugh and nod. "Okay, breathing resumed. So, where is this room of yours?"

"I always knew you wanted me."

"I need to work on my article."

"That's what they all say."

"Logan," I warn.

"Okay, okay," he relents, his hands up in surrender. "Just follow me."

We push our way through the hoards of people until we found his room. There is a couple entangled on his bed when we enter and he quickly shoos them out.

"She forgot her thong," I note, pointing to the piece of cheetah print material.

"I have a feeling she won't mind." He goes to his desk and starts clearing off the surface. "You can work here. Paper, pens, staples, and white-out are in the drawer. I don't think I have any paperclips."

"I won't need paperclips," I tell him.

"Okay, well, type away."

"Thanks Logan."

He stands by the door and for a moment I don't think he's going to leave. But then he nods and tells me, "Anytime, Ace."

He shuts the door behind him and I stare stupidly at it until I realize what I am doing and then immediately pull my laptop out its bag. I press the power button and prepare myself for hours of work.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

Logan opens the door twenty minutes after he left me. He makes the pretense of opening the door softly, which I find entirely unnecessary. The act of him coming in is an interruption and attempting to make that interruption quiet is futile.

And an oxymoron.

"How is it going?" He asks as his eyes flit to the empty computer screen. "Wow, that bad?"

"No comment."  
"You've been in here for a long time, Ace. I might just have to retract that nickname of yours after all."

"I've only been in here for twenty minutes," I defend.

"Not true."

"There's a clock on this laptop," I point out.

"How do I know that you can read a clock?"

"Logan, it's digital."

"I think you need a break."

"Did you miss the part where I said I've only been working for twenty minutes?"

"It'll clear you head," Logan suggests, but I shake my head and tell him, "My head is clear enough. In fact, it is so clear that it would seem that there is absolutely nothing in it."

"Are you insinuating that you, Rory Gilmore, do not have a brain?"

I don't answer and he tells me, "Ace, you need a drink."

"Want to bring it to me?"

He takes my arm without a word and pulls me out of the room, much to my dismay. I complain the entire way out of the room, but Logan must have selective hearing. All he says when we rejoin the party is, "Aren't you glad I made you come out here?"

"No."

"Great. Hey, Ace, there are a few people I want you to meet."

"Goody."

"Samantha!" A particularly drunk man slurs. He is looking right at me and I glance at Logan who tells me, "That's the first person I'm introducing you to."

"Samantha?"

"No, Finn." He grins at my confusion and goes, "Finn, my man, how are you?"

"I think I'm sober."

Logan laughs. "I can assure you, Finn, that is not the truth."

Finn frowns but it quickly screws into a smile. He looks at me and asks, "Who is this, mate?"

"This is Rory Gilmore."

"Nice, mate, very nice." His eyes wander and then he hands me his drink. "Take this, love.

He walks off and I watch him practically jump a tall red head. I look at Logan for an explanation and he grins.

"That is Finn Rothschild."

"His parents must be proud."

"Very. Do you want a drink?"

I hesitate for a moment because I can still see the blank screen of my laptop but I nod against my better judgment and watch him grab a drink for me. When he returns I take it from him and gingerly attempt the first sip.

"This is strong," I say once the burning in my throat has subsided.

"No, you just have a low tolerance. Just kick it back. It makes it easier."

"Kick it back?"

He demonstrates by taking down the contents of his cup in one large gulp. I must have been looking at him with my mouth hanging open because he laughs and tells me, "You don't want to get a fly in there, do you?"

"That's kicking it back?"

"Yup."

"I _am_ an amateur."

"Well, today is the first day of the rest of your life," he tells me. "It's a day for change."

I take a deep breath. "Here I go."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"I hate you," I tell Logan, pushing at his chest.

"Why do you hate me?"

"You know why."

"Mate, you have a lively one here," Finn slurs, putting his arm around my shoulders.

"I'm helping you," Logan says stoutly, draining the contents of his cup. "You should be happy."

I shake my head like a petulant child and retort, "You're just confusing me."

"How am I confusing you?"

"You just are," I scoff.

"Well, I'm sorry," he says, giving me a small bow.

I stare at him.

"Why did you just bow, mate?"

Logan shrugs. "I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do at the time."

I try to follow the conversation but my eyelids feel like heavy weights are attached to them. I stumble a bit and hear a girl who I think may be Stephanie yell out, "Timber!"

Arms encircle my waist on my descent and upright me. I look over my shoulder and scoff when I see it is Logan.

"You again."

"I think you need to sleep. You're drunk."

"You're drunk, too," I argue sleepily.

"Yes, but I'm used to it."

I want to argue but all that comes out of my mouth is, "Bed."

Logan chuckles and staggers with me over to his bedroom. He helps me into his bed and pulls the cover up to my chin. I promptly pull them back down.

"I'm not a child," I tell him petulantly.

"Nightie night, Ace."

I am asleep before I can respond.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I am in a strange bed.

And my head feels like it was hit by an anvil.

I turn on my back and look around me. I vaguely recognize the room but I cannot place it. It's like when you see someone on the street and you can't remember if they're from your high school or college. I sit up and the night comes back to me with striking speed.

Oh no.

I tear out of the bed, going to my laptop. Quickly I turn it on, beginning to hyperventilate as I am met with the usual blue screen.

The article.

It is nearly ten and I have not typed one word of the article.

I grab my cell phone, which is blessedly on the desk, and dial Paris' number. I begin concocting a story as it rings. I'll tell her that it was eaten by dogs. No, I'll tell her that my laptop was stolen by the duwop group that always hangs out by the dorm.

"Hello?"

"Paris," I say nervously. "Thank God I was able to get a hold of you. Listen, about my article-"

"It was great."

"What?"

"It was really good writing. It was different from your usual cheeky tone, but in a good way. I was impressed and you know that I am never impressed. Pat yourself on the back."

I don't answer because I am too busy trying to figure out how the hell she got an article from me. I have been sleeping for the past ten or eleven hours. There is no way that she got an article from me.

"Did you do it?" She asks.

"The article?"

"No, pat yourself on the back."

"Um, no, I didn't."

"Go on, Gilmore. This opportunity won't come again soon."

I nod and pat myself on my back.

"You did it?"

"Yes."

"Good, well, I need to get to work on the layout. My work is never done here."

"Yeah, okay."

"Good work, Gilmore. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

The door opens and I turn sharply, catching my breath.

"You okay, Ace?"

"You scared me."

"Why?"

"I didn't expect you to be there."

"You're in my room."

"You could have knocked," I say.

"Once again, you're in my room." I look back at my computer screen and he sits down on the bed. Casually he asks me, "Were you just talking to Paris?"

"Yeah."

"How did she like your article?"

I look at him quickly, my mouth hanging open.

No.

"It was you?"

"It was my fault that you didn't get it finished," he explains. "And I was up early anyway."

"I can't believe you wrote it."

"You did the hard part," he tells me. "Your notes were great, by the way."

"I need to call Paris," I say distractedly, flipping open my phone. "You should be on the byline."

"What? No."

"You wrote it."

He reaches out and pushes my arm down gently. "It's yours' Ace."

"Okay," I say slowly, flipping my phone shut. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

We're silent for a moment and I steal a look at him. He's looking at the screen of my computer and licks his lips. After a moment he asks, "So, how did she like it?"

"She said it was really good."

"She did?"

I nod.

"Well, who would've known?"

"You really saved my bottom," I tell him. "Bill is going to be disappointed."

"Bill? Didn't he write the piece of the vegan table?"

I frown. "Why is everyone obsessed with that table?"

"It has pretty good food. The rice is great."

"Okay, well, I need to get going," I say, gathering my things. "I have class in a few hours."

"Need me to walk you back to make sure you don't walk into anything?" I laugh and shake my head. He further explains, "Because I know how dangerous a hangover can be."

"I'll be fine."

He nods and I move to walk out of the door. At the last second, though, I stop and give him a small hug, my lips brushing against his cheek. It is harmless, a platonic show of gratitude, but my head stills spins from it. Before I can do anything else to make my head spin, I grasp the strap of my bag to steady myself and leave.

**A/N: You like???**

**Next chapter will be dinner with the Huntzbergers (plus much, much more). **

**Leave me some reviews and you will get this chapter by Monday ******


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here is the new chapter! I hope you like it ******

The Family(s)

Logan and I are studying when my phone rings.

Logan frowns. "I thought we weren't allowed to have our phones on during the study session."

I ignore him and look at the cell phone screen. "Oh, it's my mom."

As I move to flip open the phone Logan grabs it from my hand. Irritably I tell him, "Give it back to me."

"No. It was your rule that phones had to be off. I cannot let you break your own rule."

"Logan, give the phone to me."

"I could do that," he says slowly. "Or I could answer the phone."

"No-"

"Hi Mom," Logan says into the phone and I can hear my mom answer, "Don't you sound manly today, Rory."

"Give me that," I snap, grabbing the phone from him. "Sorry about that mom."

"Who was that?"

"No one."

"He had a nice voice. Very Cary Grant."

"His name's Logan and we are studying together."

My mom is silent and I know what is going through her mind. Immediately I tell her, "No stacks."

"You can't blame me for thinking that. It was just so easy."

"He's helping me with Latin."

"I'm trying to," Logan corrects. "But it won't work if you don't put down the phone."

"He's feisty," Lorelai says. "I like him."

Logan grins. "Did I just hear that she likes me?"

"Shut up," I retort.

"Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?"

My head hurts.

"Boyfriend?" Lorelai asks loudly. "Did he just say boyfriend?"

"Yes," I sigh. "He did."

"You finally moved on from Blondie?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Explain," she demands.

"How about we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? This is not a story to be told over the phone."

"That good?"

"Eleven?" I ask.

"Yes, and bring the boy."

"He's probably busy," I say immediately.

"He can clear his schedule to meet his future Mommy."

"Mom-"

"I promise to behave myself. I'll see you and the boy tomorrow."

"Fine," I sigh. "Love you."

"Love you, babe."

I throw my phone into my purse and groan. I love my mom. Really, I do. But sometimes she can be overwhelming, even for me. I shuffle my papers to keep myself from doing more than groan and then focus on Logan again. I didn't realize until now that he has been watching me the entire time and he has this small grin on his face that makes my stomach grudgingly flip.

"Your mom wants to meet me, huh?"

"Yes."

"She sounded cool."

"Yup."

He laughs. "Your monosyllabic answers are quite the turn on, Ace."

"This is getting out of hand," I tell him.

"What?"

"This whole fake-dating thing."

"We can tell your mom the truth," he offers, to which I answer, "Of course we're telling her the truth. She'd see right through us."

"I think we're pretty convincing."

I shake my head. "My mom can always tell when I am lying."

"From experience?"

"We're close," I tell him. "So, we'll tell her."

"We'll tell her."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"So, you never told your mom where we're meeting," Logan says as we walk through campus. It's a particularly cold day and if my arms were crossed against my chest any tighter they would lock there. I shiver slightly and tell him, "There was no need."

"Why? Oh, let me guess. _We're close_."

I laugh at his reference to our study session and say, "No, it's not that. We always go to the same place for coffee. Gilmores are creatures of habit. When we find something we like, we drive it into the ground."

"Where are we going?"

"The coffee kart by Mundelein."

He laughs and informs me, "Ace, that's a coffee kart."

"I am aware of that."

"Your go-to-be all-end all of coffee is the kart by Mundelein?"

I nod happily.

"You are very odd."

"You can blame the forthcoming break-up on that."

He laughs. "Brilliant."

I catch sight of Mom by the coffee kart and chuckle. She's wearing her favorite scarf that looks like Easter vomit and she waves it cheerily when she sees me.

"Nice scarf," I tell her as we hug.

"I wore it because I know how much you love it," she teases, looking over my shoulder at Logan. "So, is this him?"

"Yes, Mom, this is Logan."

She nods. "Nice name, very Veronica Mars."

"Are you sure you're her mother?" Logan says smoothly. "You look much too young."

"I like him," Lorelai coos as I tell him, "Swallow that charm, Huntzberger."

"Wait, you're a Huntzberger?" Lorelai asks, her lips spreading into a grin. "I can't believe it."

"What?"

"Your dad asked me out about five times when we were young."

"Really?" Logan says congenially. "Did you ever cave?"

"No, his chin freaked me out."

"Understandably."

"Do you want to walk?" I suggest. "We need to talk to you."

Lorelai grins. "We? I knew there was something going on."

"Let's walk."

"When did you start dating?" Lorelai asks.

"Well, that's a complicated question," I tell her. "Because, you see, we're not technically dating."

Lorelai blanches. "Please tell me that this is not what it sounds like. Did you learn nothing from your mother and old episodes of 90210?"

"It's not," I assure her.

"Well, then, please explain to your old feeble mother. I'm not following."

"Logan is helping me get Tristan back."

Lorelai is silent and I can feel a reprimand on its way. She never liked Tristan. She only referred to him as Blondie throughout our relationship and never said it kindly.

"And how are you doing that?" She asks in a voice that-although I would never tell her-resembles Grandma's.

"I am dating her to make Tristan jealous."

"How convenient."

"Mom," I warn.

"No offense, but guys don't just help girls get their boyfriends back. What's the catch?"

"There is no catch," Logan says. "I just want to do something nice for a change."

There is a pause and he adds, "No innuendo implied."

"I wasn't even thinking that, " Lorelai says. "Okay, I was. Anyway, you really want to help her?"

"Yes."

"And Tristan is really what you want?" She asks me. "Because, you know, Logan kind of looks like him. Just squint your eyes and-"

"It's what I want."

She sighs. "Fine. Let's get more coffee."

Logan looks at my mother and tells me, "Things make so much more sense now."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"How long did Huntzberger say it would take to win Tristan back?" Paris asks, sitting at the foot of my bed. I am reading a book and look up at her as I ask, "Do you not see the book in my hands?"

"Yes, The Aeneid, very impressive. Now, how long?"

I sigh. "One month."

"It's been three weeks, Rory. Have you made any progress to speak of?"

"Tristan seems sad."

She rolls her eyes and tells me, "You need something more concrete. Has he tried to get you back?"

"No."

"Dangled girls in front of you?"

"No."

"Stage a fake run-in? Come on, Gilmore, there has to be something."

"He's given me space, which is good. It shows he repsects me."

"It also shows that he's losing interest. You know, I always thought that Logan kid was blue in the face. This proves it."

"Paris-"

"You've been wasting hours of your life with him and for what? Tristan is no closer to taking you back then when he first dumped you."

"Ouch, thanks for the sensitivity, Paris."

"Well, it's the truth."

"It will work," I tell her. "I believe in him."

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "You sound like a sappy Nicholas Spark book."

"You know, you have to read those books to know the tone," I say. "I thought Nicholas Sparks was below your intellect."

"Just because I have a brain doesn't mean that I can't turn it off for a bit. Besides, it was fun coming up with a list of all the classics he ripped off of."

"Logan knows what he's doing. And if it doesn't work, then I'll just confront Tristan myself."

"And look desperate."

"I'll do what I have to," I answer with a shrug. "Everything worth having is worth working for, right?"

Paris doesn't look convinced and to be honest, I don't feel too convinced myself. Tristan really hasn't made any move to get me back and I begin to worry that Logan and I are doing too good of a job. Maybe he really thinks that I have moved on.

Maybe I have moved on.

The thought alone makes my feet tingle.

What would Logan say if in the end I decide that I really don't want Tristan? All the pretending would have been for nothing.

"No, I want Tristan," I say aloud.

"I'm not arguing," Paris points out.

"Oh, I know," I say sheepishly. "Sorry."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"What are you doing tonight?" Logan asks me on the way to the coffee cart, falling into stride beside me. I look at him with a small grin and tell him, "I didn't think this relationship involved actual dating."

"My parents want to meet you."

I stop walking and stare at him.

"You told your parents?"

"No, Stephanie told my sister Honor, who then told my parents."

"And they want to meet me," I mutter, shaking my head. "I hate meeting parents, even when it's fake. It makes me nervous."

"You'll be fine. You're a Gilmore meaning that it is nearly impossible for them to not like you."

"You're buying me coffee," I mumble, resuming my walk to the coffee cart.

"Two coffees," Logan tells the vendor. While our coffees are being made he turns and asks me, "So, what are you wearing tonight?"

"I don't know."

"Don't wear red."

"Um, okay."

"My dad hates Harvard."

"Okay."

"And do you have any pearls? It may help to wear pearls. My mom loves them."

"I thought being a Gilmore was enough," I sigh.

"Well, pearls wouldn't hurt."

"I have them," I tell him. "Anything else I should know? Need me to change my hair color?"

"No, they are pretty impartial in that arena."

"Oh, well, that's a relief."

The vendor hands us the coffee and Logan pays. We part ways, our classes on opposite ends of campus, and I begin to read too much into what had just transpired. Meeting his parents feels like a big step. Even if the step if false, it's still there and I still need to take it. I turn sharply and make my way back to the coffee cart. I am going to need a lot more of the bean to sort through my increasingly dangerous predicament.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

Logan and I stand in front of his parent's house and I feel like I am a heroine in one of Jane Austen's novels. The house is straight from Mansfield Park and I feel the classic Austen apprehension. I feel a strong urge to grab Logan's hand, to hold onto the one thing that I know is really there. Everything else feels so surreal. But I resist.

"This is it," Logan tells me.

"It's really big."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"It makes my grandparent's house look like a pool house."

"But that house has superior liquor," he says, his eyes not leaving the front door. "It balances out."

"I feel like we're going into the lion's den."

Logan takes my hand briefly and gives it a quick squeeze. I feel insurmountably better. In a reassuring voice he tells me, "It won't be bad. It's only Shira and Mitchum. What's the worst that can happen? Besides, does it really matter if they like you?"

I nod. "You're right. Who cares if they like me? It's not like this is forever. You're just an means to an end."

"Kant is rolling in his grave," he jokes.

"Kant is not applicable to the real world."

He sighs and I know it's time to ring the doorbell. I know it's time because I feel the paralyzing dread and suffocating fear. I am meeting my boyfriend's family. No, my fake-boyfriend's family. For some reason I find this more frightening.

"Time to face the music," I mutter.

Logan presses his finger against the doorbell and a stout maid with ebony hair opens it. She grins wide when she sees Logan and says, "Hello, Mr. Logan. Hello, Ms."

She has a thick Argentine accent.

"Hello Eva," Logan says. "It is great to see you."

"You too, Mr. Logan."

"Where's my family?"

"In the living room, Mr. Logan. They are having drinks."

"Fantastic, and has my mother smoked today?"

Eva swallows a smile as if she has heard a joke and shakes her head quickly. "No, Mr. Logan, no smoking."

"Good. Thank you."

Logan offers me his arm and I take it.

"Was that a joke?" I ask him in a low voice as we head to the living room.

"My mom is a stress smoker," he explains. "So, be happy she is not smoking."

"I am ecstatic."

We walk into the living room and a woman who is undoubtedly Logan's mother smiles wide. She stands up and grandly says, "Hello both of you. Logan, you're on time for once."

"Someone should write this down," a girl who I assume is Honor jokes.

"You must be Rory," Shira says. "It is a pleasure to meet you again."

I blink rapidly and nod. I have no recollection of meeting her a previous time, but do not want to be rude by telling her so. She chuckles and says, "You don't remember me, do you?"

I shake my head with a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry. I-"

"I didn't expect you to, really," she tells me with a flit of her hand. "We met very briefly a few years back at your grandparents' Christmas Party."

I still don't remember. My only memory of that party is my grandpa collapsing with a heart attack. She must have read my mind because she touches my arm and says, "It is a miracle Richard has fully recovered. How is he?"

"He's good. Eating red meat again, so he's happy as a clam."

"Don't you hate that healthy food?" She says conspiringly. "Logan's father went on a health kick a few months back. We ate nothing but grilled chicken and quinoa for two weeks straight."

"That sounds terrible," I say.

"It was. Luckily, we have returned to red meat as well."

"That is very good to hear."

"Where's Dad?" Logan asks. Shira frowns and tells him, "He will not be joining us until later. He's caught up with work." Her mood changes radically as she trills, "Why don't you two sit down. I want to hear about how you met."

Logan gives me an odd look and we sit down. His mother is watching us intently and I impulsively put my hand over his. He doesn't respond for a moment and I'm afraid that I did the wrong thing until he turns my hand over and interlaces our fingers.

"So, let's hear this story," Shira says.

"Want me to take this one?" Logan asks with an easy smile. I nod in relief. I am in no shape to come up with a story.

"Rory and I met at a club."

I look at him in alarm because this sound vaguely, terribly, like the real story. He catches my look and laughs. "It's where we met, Ace."

"I guess it just doesn't sound as romantic in words," I answer.

"Well, anyway, we met in a club. To say that I was surprised when we first met would be an understatement."

This is shockingly like the real story and I dig my fingernails into his hand.

"You see, her judgment was slightly impaired by something called a Dirty Alley and-"

Oh, hell no.

"I only had one drink," I interject. "I had a terrible cold that night. So, if anything, cough medicine was to blame for my erratic behavior."

"Okay, it was cough medicine," Logan relents. "Anyway, I met her on the way out of the club."

This is sounding better.

"She looked pretty bad, red nose and everything, and I offered to walk her home."

Honor snorts. "Since when do you walk random girls back to their dorms?"

"I usually don't," Logan admits with one succinct chuckle. "It was different with Rory, though. I saw her and was determined to make sure she got back to her dorm safely. She repaid the favor with a date."

"And the rest is history," I end cheerfully.

"Well, that's a nice story," Shira says with a somewhat tight grin which I in no way blame her for. That story was mediocre at best. It still beats the real story by ten-fold, though, so I am content.

"Dinner is served," a maid says, nodding her head a bit before walking out. Shira rises from her seat and gestures for us to follow her into the dining room. Logan whispers, "This is going pretty well."

"Don't jinx it."

He squeezes my hand.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

We're in the car again and Logan says for the fourth time, "They really liked you."

"I'm a likeable person."

"And you didn't even wear pearls."

"Your mom actually complimented my minimal jewelry," I remember with a grin. "Well, I guess we were nervous about nothing."

"This doesn't make sense. My family always hates everyone I take home."

"I thought you didn't take girls home."

"I would have dates for functions, though. They would meet the girl and be terrible. With you, though…"

"Don't read too much into it," I tell him. "Let's just be happy that we weren't burned alive, okay?"

"Okay."

After a moment he grins and says, "They really liked you."

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW. PLEASE.**

**Next chapter will be dinner at the Gilmores. Emily one-liners will be plentiful. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm back! Here is the new chapter, with many Emily one-liners, as promised. I hope you like it!**

Cuckolding

I am sitting in the ornately furnished living room of my grandparents with my legs crossed demurely at the ankles. My hands are folded on my lap and I drum my fingers silently against my leg as my mom explains once again why she did not inform my grandma that her and Luke had resumed their previously doomed relationship.

"I just didn't think it mattered," Mom says. "You hadn't even known we broke up."

"That is _exactly_ my point, Lorelai. I didn't even know you two were separated. What if I had seen him at some event? I could have said something that would have been insensitive because I didn't know the situation."

"Oh, because you run across Luke at events so often."

"It could happen."

"Mom, you don't even like Luke."

"That's not true," Grandma snaps. "I think Luke is fine."

"The backhanded comments you would throw him at every dinner really proved that, Mom."

"I don't even know how to make backhanded comments," Grandma tells my mother. This sets my mom into a fit of bitter laughter and she spits, "Oh, well, you've fooled me for forty years."

"I would just like to know when major events occur in your life, Lorelai. I am your mother after all."

"Yes, you remind me of that every single phone call."

"It's true."

Mom sighs. "Yes, I know. And I promise that the next time I have a major life event, you will be the first to know. You'll know even before me."

"Thank you."

"Good, end of conversation."

Grandma goes to speak but stops when Lorelai sends her a look. After a moment she asks, "I am changing the subject, Lorelai. Am I allowed to speak?"

"Be my guest."

Grandma sighs. "Well, I heard the most peculiar thing at the club today."

"They were out of hot stone massages?" Mom quips.

"No, Shira Huntzberger told me that Rory had been at her house for dinner this week."

My heart stops.

"And when I inquired as to why, Shira informed me that my granddaughter was dating her son."

I jump right in with a hastily constructed explanation, but she stops me.

"You didn't even have the decency to tell me."

"Here we go again," Mom sighs.

"Can you imagine how embarrassed I was?"

"I don't even want to," Mom says dryly. "I bet it was that bad."

Grandpa, always the one to pointedly ignore tension, says, "Well, I am pleased. This means you're done with that DuGrey boy. Am I correct?"

I nod my head. "Yes, Grandpa."

"Good, I never liked that boy. Always too eager to take a drink at holidays."

"I want you to invite Logan to next week's dinner," Grandma says. Her voice is the one she uses when there is absolutely no discussion.

"Oh, Grandma…"

Mom comes to my aid and says, "Logan's probably busy, Mom."

"Busy doing what?"

"Oh, you know, saving orphans, buying new snifters for his scotch.

"Shira had Rory at her home, therefore I must have Logan here. Rory, you will invite him.

"Okay."

Grandma frowns and tells me, "Your mother's attitude has rubbed off on you."

Mom shakes her head. "Oh no, if this were me there would be much more swearing. Maybe even a thrown napkin."

"Are you finished?" Grandma asks dryly.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"Evil," I mutter as the ornate Gilmore door shuts behind us. "The world is evil."

"It won't be that bad," Mom assures me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "Logan will survive."

"Did you see this coming?"

Mom takes a deep breath. "Well, I contemplated it. I just hoped it wouldn't come to fruition, you know?"

"I should have seen this coming."

"Hey babe, you had to meet his parents so it's fair play that he meets Adolf and Eva."

"Very funny."

She gives me a squeeze and says, "You will both survive."

"I know."

"And I'll be there as a buffer."

"Since when has that ever worked?" I ask morosely.

"I promise if things get too stuffy I will tell the story about the time I sang Whitney Houston on top of the bar counter when we were in Atlanta City."

"Grandma would die."

"Maybe I'll tell that story regardless."

I smile and kiss her cheek. "I need to head back."

"Tell Logan I say hi."

"I will, bye."

"Bye babe."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I have been dreading telling Logan that he needs to meet my grandparents. The more I think about it, the more the dinner seems a nuisance. Meeting Logan's parents was one thing; they are his parents after all. Emily and Richard, though, is entirely different. They are my grandparents and it seems excessive to have a special dinner in order for my grandparents to meet my fake boyfriend. Regardless, though, Emily Gilmore demanded there be a dinner and that woman is not a force to be reckoned with.

I have no choice.

I walk up to Logan and without any introduction I tell him, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" He asks with a bemused grin.

"This fake-relationship thing is getting out of hand. My grandparents want to meet you."

"I figured," he sighs.

"How?"

"You met my parents. It was bound to happen-protocol actually. Society is very big on protocol."

"It's next Friday."

"I have a poker game Friday," Logan says after a moment. I shake my head and tell him, "Emily Gilmore will not see that as an excuse."

"It was a joke, Ace. Friday is fine."

"It shouldn't be too bad," I say after regaining my ability to speak after thinking he was actually using a poker game as an excuse. "My mom will be there."

"Lorelai?"

I look at him and deadpan, "No, Judy Garland."

"Sorry, go on."

"My mom is pretty good at diffusing tension." I inhale and exhale. "Or creating it."

He touches my arm to calm me down and says, "Relax, Ace. Everything will be fine. Besides, I've already met your grandparents."

"When?"

"I believe it was the same party you met my parents."

"Everyone was at that party," I note. "Did they like you?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"Charming," I snipe.

"Look, parents like me," he says with a shrug. "I'm a likeable guy."

"They're my grandparents," I point out. "That is very different."

Logan sighs and tells me, "Stop worrying."

He leans in and brushes his lips gently against mine. When he pulls away I ask, "Where's Tristan?"

"Over by the bike rack," he answers.

I go to check but he stops me. "Trust me. He's there."

He brings his lips back to mine and I have no interest in turning my head.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"Johnny Castle is the quintessential bad-boy," Paris notes as we watch Dirty Dancing. Both of us have decided to avoid homework, which we both also know will result in us panicking after the credits and cramming until four in the morning. Still, though, we enjoy our short-lived rebellion.

"Those high-waisted pants are really working for me."

"This movie is exactly why you should not take DuGrey back," Paris says, pointing at the screen. "Do you see that leather jacket? DuGrey doesn't have one."

"And your point is?"

"That he should have one," she says simply. "Logan has one."

"Are you saying that Logan is Johnny Castle?"

She shrugs. "In the modern world, Logan would be classified as the quintessential bad-boy. He sunk a yacht, you know."

"Very nice."

"It wasn't even his. He commandeered it."

"How very Jack Sparrow of him."

"I'm just saying, don't be too eager to take DuGrey back. There are lots of other fish in the sea." She returns her attention to the screen and trills, "Damn, look at his butt."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

Logan's car is very nice. I come to this conclusion as we drive to my grandparent's house-driving too fast, may I add. I am talking incessantly in an attempt to not notice the peril I am in, and tell him about Paris and my movie night.

"Paris has a Patrick Swayze complex?" Logan says, laughing. "Who would've known?"

"There are a lot of things about Paris that people don't know," I say.

"Don't finish that."

I laugh and tell him, "I wasn't going to. Logan, turn here."

"Shit," he mutters, making a sharp turn. "You, Ace, need to pay attention more."

"You're distracting me," I defend.

"Well, I had to stop that drum roll thing you were doing on the car door. It was driving me crazy. Why are you so nervous?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with your Fast and Furious driving."

"I'm a good driver, Ace. I'm a Huntzberger."

"Nice name wielding."

"What else am I supposed to do with it?"

"I don't know. Sign it on checks, put it on the back of a t-shirt? Oh, turn here."

"Damn it, Ace," he snaps as we make another sharp turn. "That's it, no more talking until we're there."

"We are there," I tell him, pointing at the house a few feet away. "That's their house. I thought you were here before, anyway."

"I was, but all I was thinking about was what girl I could take in the back." He says, quickly adding, "No offense."

"None taken."

He parks the car in back of my mom's and then gets out of the car. He comes on my side to open the door which I pointedly open before he can. He gives me a look and I tell him, "Now I am determined to make my grandparents not like you. My grandma is very big on manners. You really should have opened that door, Huntzberger."

He takes my arm and pulls me out of the car, whispering in my ear, "They're still going to love me, Ace."

"That's what you think," I tease.

I stop knowingly at my mom's car and knock on the window. She is seated at the steering wheel, sipping a cup of coffee. She grins and gives me a wave. I watch her put the coffee in the cup holder and then climb out.

"Daughter!" She cries happily, linking her arm through mine. "Thank God you're here. It was getting stuffy in that car."

"You could have gone in," Logan says from beside me.

Mom purses her lips playfully as she mutters, "Amateur. Anyway, you kids ready to face the music?"

"Yes," I sigh. "Wait, you do realize that we're not telling them the truth, right?"

"Rory," she says, "look who you're talking to. Of course I know you're not telling the truth."

"Oh, good."

"Although it would be fun to watch my mother's face turn eleven shades of purple."

"Let's not."

"Come on," Logan says, taking the initiative and pulling me forward. Mom pouts and complains, "Why did you have to get such a proactive boyfriend, Ror? Couldn't you have chosen Zach or something?"

"Zach is dating Lane," I point out.

"Yeah, but if Logan were Zach, we would still be at the car."

Logan rings the doorbell and a stout maid I've never seen before opens the door. Mom whispers, "This is good. Mom is always happiest after firing someone for no reason."

We step past the maid, who is much more frantic than the prior one, and head into the living room. Grandma greets us there, looking every bit of the hostess. She touches Logan's arm affectionately and coos, "It is so nice to see you again, Logan."

"You too, Emily. The house looks beautiful. Are those new drapes?"

"Oh, he's good," Mom says in a low voice.

"Logan," Grandpa says, appearing from the kitchen. "You have grown quite a lot since I last saw you."

"I've been in the gym," Logan answers easily.

"And he tries to take me which never turns out well, " I joke.

"Rory is a fine golfer," Grandpa says.

"Oh, he's embellishing," I tell Logan with a grin. "I am a terrible golfer."

"Nonsense," Grandpa says. "You're a natural."

"I love pie," Mom blurts out. Grandma and Grandpa stare at her for a moment until she says, "I just wanted to remind you that I was here."

"I see you, Lorelai," Grandma says dryly. "Now, Logan, can I get you a drink?"

"A Black Russian," Logan says, to which Grandpa appreciatively says, "Very good taste, Logan."

"How about you, Rory?"

"Just a club soda."

"You can have a drink here, Rory," Grandma says. "Don't be silly."

"She doesn't want one, Mom."

"I'll have what Logan's having," I interject, not interested in an entire debate being sparked over whether or not I need to have a drink. Grandma nods with a small smile and tells Grandpa to make the drink.

"Your hair is going to turn white," Mom whispers to me as she sits at the chair next to me.

"That bad?" I ask. I had no idea what a Black Russian was.

Grandpa hands me the drink and I take a tentative sniff.

Wow.

"Told you," Mom trills.

I watch Logan take a hearty sip of his and shake my head. "Now I see what all those poker nights are for," I tell him.

He grins and says, "You build a tolerance. Don't worry, I'll help you get there."

"Oh, look, first stoplight," Mom says with one of her trademark tight smiles.

"Okay, no building of tolerance," Logan relents. "But then you, Ace, will have to stick to club soda."

"Works for me," I chirp.

"So," Emily begins, "When did all of this start?"

I go to answer but Mom says, "Well, Mom, Friday night dinner originated about eight years ago. I believe it was your way of cuckolding myself and Rory into-"

"I'm referring to Logan and Rory, Lorelai," she says dryly. "And I did not _cuckold_ anyone."

"We met a few weeks ago," I tell her.

"Well, let's hear the story," Emily asks gaily. "Don't you want to hear the story, Richard."

"Oh yes, do go on."

I grin at Logan and tell the same story that we had told his mother. I left out the Dirty Alley portion, though. At the end my mother, who is aware of the real story, nods appreciatively.

"Quite the story," Mom quips.

"Well, that is lovely," Emily says, clapping her hands together. "That story was just lovely."

"Yeah," Mom adds. "You should open a restaurant and put it on the place mats. It's that good."

"Dinner is served," A maid says timidly from the dining room and Emily rises gracefully from her chair to remark a gentle, "Splendid."

"I'm starved," Grandpa says, leading us into the dining room. "I hope we aren't having that horrid salmon again."

"We're having Cornish hens," Grandma tells him proudly. "They're very fresh."

Mom grins and says, "You slaughtered them this morning. Right, Mom?"

"Very funny, Lorelai. Now, sit down."

"It's amazing. I am a forty-something and am still bossed around by my mother."

"Well, if you behaved I wouldn't have to boss you around."

"I'm forty," Mom retorts. "I don't have to behave."

"Logan sunk a yacht," I blurt out, my eyes widening when I realize just how poor a choice my blurted statement was. I expect Grandpa to disapprove or at least some clucking noise from Grandma, but instead my Grandma takes a sip of wine as Grandpa chortles.

"I hope it wasn't yours," Grandpa says.

"No, sir, it wasn't," Logan says, kicking me under the table.

"Ouch," I mumble.

"I set a friend of mine's house on fire when I was your age," Grandpa muses.

"No way," Mom says. "I never knew you were such a renegade."

"I was attempting to make that one drink that you set on fire. I can't remember the name of it. Emily, what's the name of it?"

"I have no idea, Richard." She retorts.

"Anyway, one of the drinks went a bit awry and I ended up explaining the entire episode to a fire fighter."

"Why did you never tell me this story?" Mom asks.

"Because you were rebellious enough, Lorelai," he answers with a paternal grin. "I didn't want to give you any ideas."

"Very true," she says with a slow nod.

"Richard," Grandma says suddenly, "That function next weekend, the Baker's Charity, we have extra tickets, don't we?"

Grandpa thinks for a moment and then replies, "Yes, Emily, I believe we do."

Grandma smiles wide and says, "Rory, Logan, you two should come."

"Oh, Grandma-"

"We have the tickets. They'll just go to waste."

"You could invite other friends of yours," Mom offers quickly. "Or, um, maybe a couple of the maids that you fired without notice. It could be a kind of compensation."

"Lorelai, what in the world are you talking about?" Grandma asks sharply.

"We'd love to go," Logan says, much to my surprise. I look at him in alarm but all he does is knock his knee against mine.

"You would?" Grandma asks cheerily. "Well, that is fantastic. It's decided, then. Our extra tickets will go to you two."

Logan smiles and I force myself to do the same.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"Logan, it was wonderful seeing you again," Grandma enthuses as we pull on our coats. She keeps talking, going on and on about God knows what, but all I can think about is how Logan and I are going to go in front of all of society as a couple. I mean, granted, Emily will probably spread the news to every old biddy she sees; the entire DAR group will know before sunrise. Still, though, seeing and hearing are two very different things.

Mom keeps watching me and I know she is thinking the same thing that I am. I hoped it wasn't too obvious that Logan had roped me into doing this, but Lorelai Gilmore sees all and knows all.

I can expect a phone call later on tonight.

Logan opens the car door for me and I climb in, pulling my skirt back quickly before he shuts the door. Seconds later he is next to me and I ask him, "So, we're going to lie to all of society now?"

"I think it'll be fun."

"You hate society."

"I like society's booze. And there is very good booze at those events, Ace."

"I'm sick of lying," I sigh as we pull onto the street.

"Do you want Tristan?"

"Yes," I sigh.

"Then you need to lie for a bit more."

I know he's right but I don't want to admit it. I have never liked lying and in the past few weeks, my life has revolved around it. Everything is a lie. Everything is false. As I glance over at him though and let my eyes travel over his sculpted features, I can't help but think that what I feel isn't false. I genuinely like him. It's nothing like what I feel for Tristan, but it's there.

It won't be _that_ bad to spend one night with him.

"Tristan will be at that party, too," Logan says.

"Really?"

"Yes, that also drove my agreeing to take the tickets."

"I see."

"He'll be yours afterwards."

I look at him and say, "You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"I think we've dragged this out long enough."

I look down at my hands and say, "Yeah."

"Don't sound so down," he jokes. "You're getting what you wanted."

"You're right," I say, nodding. "I want Tristan."

"And you will get him."

"I will," I agree.

I will get what I want.

I think.

**A/N: Leave me a note telling me if you liked it!**

**And, next chapter is going to be BIG. Yup, it will be deserving of the all-caps there. Just wait and see :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I know-it's been a while. Still, though, I think you will find this chapter worth the wait. It is pretty juicy ******** Enjoy!**

Find Your Flask

Do you know that scene in Gone With the Wind, the one after Mellie dies? Scarlett is sitting there in the living room, crying into her husband's hankercheif when she witnesses Ashley's love and devotion for his deceased wife. There is that moment when the realization hits Scarlett. You can see it in her eyes, this sort of understanding that puts a little crease in her forehead. It's a bittersweet moment, that final realization that her love for Ashley had been false. All those years of devotion had been to a lie. It is only at that moment, driven by crushing tragedy, that Scarlett sees where her heart truly lies.

I am Scarlett O'Hara.

I know this as I pull on my dress before the party and am even more aware of it as I open the door to Logan, his lips brushing my cheek. His breath tickles my ear and a chill runs all the way from my eyebrows to my little toe. I tuck my arm in his, which I can see surprises him, but I only shoot him an innocent smile when he looks at me oddly. He can't know my revelation, not yet.

You see, the impossible has happened. Tristan Dugrey has finally faded into the background of Deans and Jesses and all is eclipsed by the boy walking me to his car, which has a small hula dancer on its dashboard. I hadn't noticed that before and say, "Is that new?"

"What?"

"The dancing Hawaiian."

"It's a dancing Polynesian," he corrects, "and her name is Haiku."

"Like the poem?"

"Finn named her."

That is explanation enough.

We climb into the car and I can barely contain the emotions coursing through me. I am giddy with excitement and drum my fingers anxiously against my knee. I can see him stealing little glances at me and all I want to do is straddle him in front of that steering wheel and kiss him until his head spins. I want to kiss him until _my_ head spins. Instead, I turn my head to the window and watch the trees pass, one after another, a blur of green beside his silver car.

"Are you excited?" He asks after a prolonged silence.

"About what?"

"You're getting Prince Charming, tonight," he reminds me. I roll my eyes, making sure that my face is still turned away. My not answering, though, is enough to set him off. "You still want him, right?"

"Sure."

"That's not very convincing."

"I'm just nervous," I answer carefully.

"He'll take you back."

"Not about that."

"About what, then?"

I just shrug, not about to divulge my secret. I'm actually kind of hoping he'll find out on his own. Maybe the way I touch his arm will give it away, or a certain look I toss him. It's a fanciful little desire but it's there nonetheless.

We chat easily on the drive to Silver Lake Country Club, the watering hole of the well-to-do. You can tell the quality of the restaurant by the menu. It has French caviar.

Everyone is dressed a notch higher than usual and I spy a couple strands of larger pearls. They whip out the ten millimeters for special occasions. Logan and I are dressed maybe a bit more casual than the rest. He's wearing a suit, but no tie, and my dress is more Urban Outfitters than JCrew.

"All my jewelry is costume," I confess to him, wrapping my arm around his. He leans in and whispers back, "I'm not wearing underwear."

"Oh, good."

"Rory, Logan, there you two are!" Grandma trills, coming over to us with her arms swept open. She hugs Logan first, which I find a bit disconcerting, and then pulls me in for a remarkably short hug. I feel like a manhandled piece of fruit as she tosses me over to Grandpa.

"You just look beautiful," she says. "That dress is so different. What's it made of?"

"Jersey," I answer, watching her act slip for a moment.

"Simple fabrics are the best," she says. Her recovery time is remarkable.

"I have to warn you, Rory, that DuGrey boy is here."

"Tristan, Grandpa, his name is Tristan."

Grandpa nods indiscernibly, becoming distracted by something over my shoulder. In a distant voice he says, "I see one of my colleagues, enjoy the rest of tonight, dear."

Grandma is midsentence when she notices Grandpa's flight and huffs before asking, "Where is your grandfather going?"

"To see a colleague."

"The man is retired," she spits, her mood taking a mercurial change as she brightly tells Logan, "Oh well, a man never loses his draw to business, even when he's removed from it."

"I don't think my dad ever will," Logan answers easily. "The man lives and breathes business. Speaking of my dad, Rory and I had better go greet them. Mom gets antsy."

"Oh, of course, tell Shira I must talk to her later. We have much to catch up on."

"I will. It was wonderful talking with you."

"Oh, likewise, Logan, likewise." My eyes stay with hers a bit longer than they should have and she sends me a sickening wink. I turn away quickly and mutter, "My grandma just winked at me."

"Well, I think she was giving me bedroom eyes, so you got the better deal."

"Do we have to go talk to your parents?"

"I talked to your grandparents."

"They shanghaied us at the entrance," I argue. "That's different."

"It will be painless, I promise." He squeezes my hand and I don't argue anymore. I let his arm snake around my waist as we approach his parents and angle my body towards his. Shira greets me with a bright smile and kisses both of my cheeks in a practiced manner. I never understood why people do that, the two cheek kiss. Isn't one cheek enough? It seems like some contrived effort to appear European.

"How are you, darling?"

"I'm fine."

"Is my son treating you well?"

"Despite refusing to let me eat wheat thins in bed, yes."

"That was a joke," Logan interjects.

"Meaning that you let her eat all foods in bed," Mitchum adds with a wicked smile. "You're a Huntzburger, son, that girl had better be in your bed."

Charming.

"So, where is Honor?"

"Taking Sissy Grayer to the bathroom," Shira says in a low voice.

"She's already gotten to the champagne?"

"I believe it was a flask," Mitchum answers. "Her parents really need to do something about her."

"She'll grow out of it," Logan says easily. "Look at me."

"You were never drinking out of flasks," Mitchum argues and Logan squeezes my hand to alert me of his father's lapse of knowledge. "Besides, you're a Huntzburger. Those Grayers were always a bit iffy."

"Mitsy Grayer didn't know what a Patek Phillipe was at one of our parties," Logan explains. "The whole family was never held in the same acclaim afterwards."

Mitchum and Shira are distracted by the arrival of Honor and I quickly ask Logan, "What is a Patek Phillipe?"

He grins. "A watch, Ace."

I catch the sight of Tristan in my peripheral vision and can feel my hands become clammy. I hope he doesn't see me but I can tell by the way he straightens his tie that he has, so I do the only thing that I can think of and give Logan's hand a quick squeeze, cocking my head towards the dance floor.

"I want you to dip me," I tell him.

"Don't you know a gentleman never dips?" He retorts.

"Well," I say, pulling him to the crowd, "I guess it's a good thing you're not a gentleman."

He gives me this smile that I have begun claiming as my own personal one and he wraps his arms around my waist. I press my body closer to his than usual and he reacts immediately, his grip on me tightening.

"Is he coming?" He asks.

"No, I just like this song."

It's a shit excuse and I am hoping that he doesn't buy it, praying that he sees the faulty logic; but instead he merely shrugs and rests his hand comfortably on my lower back.

I had hoped that Logan and my hasty exit to the dance floor would have driven Tristan away, at least for a while. I had neglected to factor in extraneous circumstances, though. Extraneous circumstances such as how Tristan is not deterred by something as simple as a change in location. He had wanted to speak to me and my dancing with Logan did not change this. He appears behind Logan, so I see him first. Logan catches on a second later; I can tell by the way his shoulders tense.

"May I cut in?" Tristan asks, sounding much more polite than necessary. We all know what he is doing. Logan knows. I know. I'm assuming he knows.

I want Logan to say no, fight for me, but instead he pulls away and acquiesces. His eyes meet with mine momentarily before he hands me off. There is a look there that I want so much to question, but before I have a chance the eyes are replaced with Tristan's.

The moment passed.

"How are you?" Tristan asks.

"My feet hurt."

"We can sit down," he offers hurriedly but I shake my head in deference. I don't want to sit down. I don't want to go anywhere. At least where we are there is a slight chance that Logan will return.

"You look nice," he says after a moment. "You're not wearing your necklace, though."

"Turns out Logan did have a problem with me wearing it," I tell him.

"Shame, I spent a lot on that thing."

I don't answer.

"So, you and Huntz are the real thing, huh?"

"I like to think so."

He seems to become agitated as he asks, "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why is it the real thing? What makes it so damn perfect?"

"Are you drunk?" I ask after a moment.

"What?"

"Well, I can't think of any other reason why you would be asking such idiotic questions."

He laughs but it comes out sounding desperate.

"Tristan-"

"You've got a sense of humor," he says. "I've missed that, your sense of humor."

His eyes have this wild quality to them and I instinctively put my hand on his shoulder as I ask him, "Are you okay?"

"Can we talk somewhere?"

"I don't-"

"I just really need to talk to you."

I look around briefly for Logan. He's not by the bar or his parents. I spot Honor who gives me an odd look when she sees Tristan's arms around my waist, but no Logan. Finally I turn back to Tristan and tell him, "Two minutes, you have two minutes."

He nods and walks ahead of me out towards the lobby. He glances back now and then to make sure I'm following. When we reach the lobby he turns to me with his mouth open, as if he is about to speak, but then he closes it firmly. Not uttering a word he just stares at me, his eyebrows furrowed like he's in pain.

"Tristan-"

"I don't like this," he finally says. "You and Logan, it's not right."

"It is what it is," I answer obstinately. "Besides, you broke up with me."

"I was stupid," he says in a cajoling voice, moving towards me. Irritably I shake my head, avoiding his touch as he reaches for my arm. "I wasn't thinking, Rory."

"Well, you seemed pretty sure of your decision."

"I was," he admits. "Until, well, until Logan."

I stare at him in amazement. I hadn't really seen it before, but now it's clear as crystal. Logan's plan had worked. After seeing Logan and I together day after day it had begun to grate on him. It had stripped down his resolve until all he was left with was remorse.

I am seeing this remorse now.

"Rory, I love you."

I hear his words but they don't fully process. He'd never said those words. Not after dating for all those years. Not even after I said it myself. Now, with his mouth pressed into a hopeful half grin, I can't help but think about how terrible both our timing is.

"Tristan, I-"

Before I can respond he moves forward suddenly and grabs me. His lips cover mine messily and I find that his lips don't fit against mine like they used to. Maybe it's because Logan's fit so perfectly, or maybe I have changed myself.

I pull away and my eyes move from Tristan's glassy eyes to Logan standing in the doorway.

"Logan," I mumble, watching his now retreating form.

"What?"

My attention returns to the man in front of me and I slap him hard across the face.

"Rory, what the hell?"

"You can't do this," I say, beginning to feel the effects of the previous retreating form. "You can't just say those words and think that it changes everything. It doesn't, Tristan. It doesn't change a damn thing."

"But-"

"I don't love you," I say harshly. "And now the man that I do thinks-" I broke off, unable to continue.

"Rory, I mean what I said. I really do."

"It doesn't matter," I say, shaking my head. "You're too late."

I walk back into the banquet hall and look around for Logan. I can imagine what he's thinking and just the thought of it scares the shit out of me. I find Honor over at her parent's table and ask, "Have you seen Logan?"

She looks at me oddly as she says, "He just left. I thought you knew."

I don't wait to give her a response, instead turning and running towards the back exit. He couldn't have left through the front, I would have seen him, and as I rush outside I just catch his car leaving the parking lot, a flash of silver slipping into the darkness.

I pull out my cell phone and dial his number. It rings and rings, but he doesn't answer. I hold on to a shred of hope that he is unable to reach his phone, but I know that isn't the truth.

"Rory, what in the world are you doing out here?" My grandma asks, pulling her Chanel jacket tighter over her frame. "Where's Logan?"

"Can I borrow your car?" I ask quickly.

"What? Rory, what's going on?"

"I need a car," I say, my mind working faster than my mouth. "I….I just need a car."

"We took a town car down here. I suppose I could call for it."

"Could you?" I ask in relief. "That would be, just, well, fantastic."

"My purse is inside, so let me just go in and I will make the call."

I nod hurriedly but she doesn't move. Instead she is studying me, her lips pursing into a frown. "Rory, where is Logan?"

"He's on his way home," I answer.

She hesitates for a moment but then turns on her heel and goes back into the banquet hall. A few minutes later she returns and tells me that the car is on its way.

"Thank you," I say, feeling tears fill my eyes.

"Whatever is wrong," she begins tentatively, "it will get better."

"Thanks," I say half-heartedly.

"It always look like it will get worse, but it doesn't."

The car arrives, as if by magic, and the driver climbs out and opens the door. "That was quick."

"Good bye, Rory," she says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "Tell Logan I said good bye. We didn't get to have a proper farewell."

All I can do is nod.

**RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL**

I go to his house first, not entirely expecting to find him there. The maid says that everyone is at the charity function and I return to the car. Three more places prove to be unlucky and by my last stop I have given up all hope of finding him.

Besides, I'm in Stars Hollow.

I tell the driver that this is my final destination and watch the car make its way through the narrow streets. It doesn't seem to fit in, the town car. Stars Hollow is much better suited for Jeeps and Saturns. I decide to walk to Luke's. Coffee always puts things into perspective and I am in desperate need for things to be put into perspective.

I reach Luke's in record time, something I accredit to my paralyzing despair, and I sit down at the counter. Luke walks up and gives me one of his trademark looks. It almost makes me feel better.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I need coffee," I say in answer.

He grabs the pot and a cup, pouring it in front of me. I take it in my hands and dryly ask, "Any chance you have some booze?"

Luke looks at me and asks, "You're kidding, right?"

I shrug.

"Whatever happened," Luke says, "the other person is wrong."

I chuckle despite the sharp pain in my chest. "And why is that?"

"You're Rory Gilmore," he answers.

"Ah, right."

He glances over my shoulder and scowls. Swearing under his breath he flips a dishtowel onto his shoulder and says, "This guy over there has been here for an hour. And all he ordered was a coffee."

I turn around and feel my breath catch in my throat.

"That guy?" I ask, although I already know the answer.

"Yeah, he's been like that the entire time. Staring at his damn phone."

"Excuse me," I say distractedly, getting up and carrying my coffee over to the corner. I sit opposite him without any introduction, placing my coffee in front of me with a soft tap. He doesn't look up at first, not until I place my hands over his. He pulls away like he's been burned.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"Seemed like a good place to go."

"You left pretty quickly," I say carefully. "I didn't even see you go."

"I, uh, felt sick."

"So you came to Stars Hollow?"

"You said it always made you feel better."

"You saw Tristan and I kissing," I say. I thought of phrasing it as a question but I already knew the answer.

"Congratulations," he answers in a toneless voice. "I told you the plan would work."

"Logan-"

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be taking part in the happy reunion?"

"I'm here to find you."

He looks at me for the first time, really looks at me, and his eyes are dead. It is at that moment that I realize that he never wanted the plan to work. The entire time he had been helping me, pushing me towards this end that he never wanted me to reach.

"I don't want him, Logan," I say, moving my hands towards his. "I don't want him."

He looks up at me with these eyes devoid of all emotion and the words just tumble out of my mouth. "It's you, Logan. It's always been you."

He is staring at me without saying one word and I am beginning to feel desperate. Logan is always cool, always collected, and right now I think I may have stunned him into silence. I don't even think he's blinking.

"Logan?"

My voice breaks the spell and his eyes light up. He closes the distance and takes my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. I want to climb over the table and kiss him but instead I stay in my seat, letting the simplicity of the moment remain. Logan and I have kissed enough. It's the act of just being together, no strings attached, that we have been missing.

Luke walks over, eyeing Logan even more warily than before, and says, "We're closing."

"Can we just stay here a little longer?" I ask, doing the same infallible puppy dog face that I have used for twenty-one years. He hesitates and I add, "I still have coffee left. It would be a waste, Luke."

"Fine," he growls. "Just give your cups to Cesar before you leave. He's closing."

Luke turns and disappears up the stairs to his apartment.

"He doesn't like me," Logan states.

"And this is not going to remedy that," I tell him, gesturing between the two of us.

"He'll warm up to me."

I grin and lean forward, feeling the sharp electricity as my lips pull me to Logan's. Just as our lips are to touch, Cesar begins singing.

"_La Bomba_?" Logan asks with a grin, his lips nearly brushing mine.

I shrug; and to the sound of Cesar' _La Bomba_, Logan and I have our first real kiss.

**A/N: Ah. Who doesn't love a good Cesar serenade?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here is the new chapter! I'm sorry for the long wait, I had a bit of a brain freeze on how exactly this story will advance since the main conflict has resolved. Don't worry, though, I have figured it out :-)**

It's All In The Ganache

It all returns to Miss Patty's.

I remember going there with Dean after our first dance. There had been something really pure and beautiful about that night, us going lazily through my New York Times. Even though our relationship eventually soured, the memory of us on that hardwood floor remains untarnished. I can remember every feeling, the slightest touch.

I am back at Miss Patty's and feel the same pull at the back of my belly-button. This time it's Logan holding my hand, though. And I'm not the girl wrapped in dark satin anymore, either.

I had been nervous that night. Even nestled in his arms I had felt anxious, nearly mad with a desire to do everything right. He was my first love and I was desperate to keep him. Tonight is different. I feel no fear, no nerves, nothing but a complacent tingling that spreads all the way from my eyelids to my little toe. Somehow, I inherently know that I don't need to try with Logan. I don't need to make measured movement, practiced speeches.

"Is this Miss Patty?" Logan asks, pulling me from my thoughts. He is standing over by the pictures lining the wall. The pictures are very well organized, spanning from Miss Patty's early career to her days in off-Broadway plays. The orderly pictures are a pleasant juxtaposition to the woman herself. Where the pictures are straight and put-together, Miss Patty is not.

Logan doesn't know this, though, never having met the woman and comments, "She's pretty hot."

"I'll be sure to tell her that," I answer. "Just make sure not to go near her afterwards."

"Is she a cougar?" He teases.

"No, just a hot-blooded woman."

He turns towards me and murmurs, "Speaking of hot-blooded women."

I giggle as his kisses the skin next to my ear, his tongue darting out to taste my skin. I wrap my arms around his torso and sigh into his shoulder. His mouth moves from my skin to my hair, his lips barely moving. We stay that way for a bit, wrapped in each other's arms. I know it sounds like a scene straight out of a Katherine Heigl movie, but it's not like that. Nothing feels more natural than to be in his arms. Nothing feels more natural.

I yawn against his shoulder and he smirks down at me. "Tired, Ace?"

"It's been a trying day," I say softly.

"You're right, it was. All turned out nicely, though."

"Very, very."

He lifts his head from mine and seems to be looking at something over my shoulder. "I have an idea," he says, pulling away and touching my cheek briefly before heading over to a corner of the studio. I watch him pull out two yoga mats and grin.

"Are we doing yoga, Logan? I hate to break it to you, but I am terribly inflexible."

"No, we are not doing yoga," he says, pulling open the doors of a large cabinet. He rifles through bedazzled costumes and then pulls out a blanket. He reaches me again and drops to the floor with the mats. He arranges them next to each other and then takes my hand, bringing me to the floor. I settle into his arms as he pulls the cover over our legs. His feet peek from the frayed end of the cover.

"This better not be a come-on, Huntzberger," I warn lightly, snuggling against his body. "I'm not a first date kind of girl."

"I'm glad to hear that," he whispers, kissing the skin right beneath my ear. "Besides, I'm too tired."

"I thought guys were never too tired for it."

"Was Tristan?"

I blush, suddenly feeling shy.

"Well, was he?"

"No, it was usually me who was too tired."

"Sounds like I have a lot to live up to."

"And I have no doubt that you will," I answer immediately. "Now, let's sleep."

"No, wait, I'm not that tired anymore."

He rubs against me but I push him away, despite the immediate response of my body. He looks at me strangely and I gently touch his cheek, shaking my head. "No, Logan, not tonight."

For a moment I think he is going to resist, but then he settles into the mat, pulling me down next to him. He pulls me to him until I can't be any closer, his arm cradling my neck as my fingers play with the material of his undershirt. For someone who had been so tired moments earlier, his fingers work my skin tirelessly. Softly I press my lips to his chest and murmur, "Sleep, babe, sleep."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRL

I've heard that while making a mistake is bad, repeating it is even worse. I partially agree with this. The first time that Ms. Patti found me in her studio with a boy I had been mortified and ran all the way home at a rate that had to have been at least a seven minute mile. My legs ached for days after. This time, it is more of a nagging embarrassment, even more so because I am being found with a strange man.

"Rory!" Miss Patti exclaims, pulling back the covers and sighing grandly when she sees our clothes intact. "Oh, thank God. Why is it that I always seem to find you in this position?"

"It was only once," I reply groggily, pressing on Logan's chest as I sit up, causing him to yelp in pain.

"Are you trying to kill me, Ace?"

It is at this moment that he notices the rotund woman in front of us and his mouth hangs open as I say, "Logan, this is Miss Patty."

It takes him a moment to recover but when he does, it is nothing short of miraculous. He stands up, wipes his hands on his pants- a movement that seems to somehow endear him to Miss Patty-and then introduces himself.

"I'm Logan. Your studio is beautiful. I was looking at the photos on the wall earlier. Are those all of you?"

The way to man's heart is through his mouth and the way to Miss Patty's is through her pictures.

"Oh, dear, of course those are me," she coos, taking Logan's elbow and guiding him to the pictures. "I was the talk of the town back then. Do you know that I was the inspiration for Funny Girl?"

I watch them chat and realize that I have been completely forgotten. I clear my throat loudly and both of them turn. Miss Patty smiles indulgently.

"I'm sorry, Rory, dear. I'm presuming this Logan is your boyfriend?"

"Um, yes, I think so," I answer uncertainly, avoiding Logan's gaze. I don't exactly know what we are and Miss Patty sharpens this as she retorts, "Well, dear, it's not good if you have to "think so". That was the reason for half of my divorces."

"I'm her boyfriend," Logan says suddenly, giving me a small wink.

"Well, well, congratulations, Rory. He is much better than your last blonde."

Logan shoots me a look over Miss Patty's head as she continues, "Now, I'll try not to tell your mother about this. Not that I should, anway, you are an adult now. Anyway, try to not make this anymore of a habit than it already is. I have young students, Rory, and their parents are not paying for this type of education."

"It's too liberal," Logan fills in.

"We won't make it a habit," I insist. "And, uh, Logan and I should probably get going."

"Right, right, well, it was wonderful seeing you, Rory." Her tone changes as she says, "You, too, Logan."

We bustle out, Logan making a point of rolling up the mats before depositing them back in their cabinet. Miss Patty watches all the while with a close-mouthed grin that I know too well and as we leave Logan says, "I think she liked me."

"She's considering you for her eighth husband. Be careful."

"She's had eight husbands?"

"You saw the pictures from before," I point out. "Miss Patty was a heartbreaker."

Logan shakes his head and I point out Luke's Diner. He shrugs in response, which I take as a yes, and we head there for breakfast. It occurs to me that it must be somewhat early, the fact that Luke's is nearly empty tells me this, and I ask Logan, "What time is it?"

He looks down at his watch. "Um, 7:30."

"I'm never up this early."

"You did go to school, right?" He asks with a grin.

"Okay, I never willingly woke up this early."

"You need coffee?"

I grin, simpering up at him like a lovelorn child. "Only one day of real dating and you already know me so well."

"You get that twitch in your face when you need coffee," he explains. My hand flies to my face as I timidly ask, "I have a facial twitch?"

"Nope," he grins, "just wanted to see your expression when I said that."

"Jerk."

"I'll pay for your coffee."

My good mood returns. "Thank you, boyfriend."

Hand-in-hand, we return to Luke's, a place that now holds even more importance for me. The place of my childhood turned out to be the marker of my adulthood as well. It brought me Logan, someone who I intrinsically know will change me. It's a daunting thought, but with his warm hand in mine, I don't feel much fear.

Luke frowns when he sees us walk in, his eyes finding our interlocked hands first and then travelling up to our beaming faces. Well, mine is beaming, I can't really speak for Logan. Anyway, Luke was never too fond of shows of affection in his diner and I can tell that I am not a loophole in this when he slams the coffee carafe a bit too harshly on the counter and barks for us to take a seat.

Luke's sour moods have never affected me much and I drop into the nearest seat with the same feeling of lightness that is akin to whipped cream, or that chocolate stuff that is between layers of cake.

"It's ganache," Logan tells me when I inquire what exactly that is.

"Ganache, what a funny word."

"What made you think of that anyway?"

I smile indulgently and tell him, "Oh, nothing, just a curious mind, I guess."

"What do you want?" Luke asks gruffly, standing beside our table. I hadn't noticed him come and give him a bright smile.

"Two coffees, please, with cream."

"I'm assuming it's for him," Luke says, the last word said with obvious disdain.

"I, unfortunately, do not have an iron stomach like Rory," Logan answers easily. I find this endearingly witty but Luke just turns on his heel, tossing over his shoulder, "I'll be back with your coffee."

"He really doesn't like me," Logan notes.

"He's very protective of me," I explain, reaching across the table for his hands. He gives them readily and I luxuriate in the fact that I have someone's hands to ask for.

"Well, he'll turn around."

Luke returns and puts my coffee in front of me. He leans forward more than necessary to give Logan his coffee and before I can stop him, Luke's face is directly in front of Logan's, his body hunched over him as he says, "I'll make this brief. Rory is a very special girl in this town. We all care about her very much and some people-you may have heard of them-well, they have not treated her very well. To put it simply, if you hurt her you will hear from me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

Luke pushes off of the table and straightens his baseball cap before giving one succinct nod, returning to the counter. Logan looks at me and while he smiles it comes out as more of a grimace.

After catching his breath he says, "That is going to take some work."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

Logan and I stay at our table longer than Luke would have liked. He shoots us barely veiled looks of contempt as I drain my fourth cup of coffee, Logan looking through his wallet for something that isn't money. The check that Luke slapped on the table an hour ago has remained untouched.

"I swear I put it in here," Logan says, starting from the beginning of his wallet and going through each piece of paper.

"Maybe you dreamt it," I say off-handedly. "I've had that happen, where I swear something happened but it turns out to be just a dream. Once I was convinced that I played beer pong with Michael Phelps. Turns out it was the result of a heavy dose of Sudafed."

"Aha, here it is," Logan says, pulling out a piece of yellow-lined paper.

"No way," I breathe out, reaching forward and grabbing it from his hands.

"Yes, that is Tom Hanks' phone number."

"How did you manage to get this?" I demand, memorizing the digits.

"Well, one of my dad's papers did this huge story on him and my dad met him. They went out for dinner and stuff, typical schmoozing, but my dad ended up actually liking him. A few parties later, they were pretty good friends."

"Wow, my grandparents don't have any famous friends." I pause for a moment and say, "Except for the Kardashians; but they don't count."

"Your grandparents are friends with the Kardashians?"

I nod, glancing at my once again empty cup of coffee. "My grandpa plays golf with Bruce Jenner every Thursday."

"Weird."

The chimes on the main door jingle as it flies open and I know before I see the new patron that it is my mom. Something in the air changes and then I hear her say, "Rory, what are you doing here?"

"Hi Mom," I say, standing up to give her a hug. She glances over my shoulder and says, "You're spending quite a lot of time with this blonde. Fake-boyfriend or not, it's getting kind of suspcious, sweetie."

"It's not fake anymore," Logan pipes in. "I made an honest woman out of her."

"Really?" She looks at me for affirmation and I nod. "It just happened last night, Mom."

"So, you're the blonde that Miss Patty found my daughter with," Mom says and my eyes widen. She notices my expression and grins. "Rory, did you really think that Miss Patty wouldn't tell me?"

"I'm twenty one," I point out.

"And Miss Patty loves to gossip. Well, I'm glad it was Logan. I thought it might have been Tristan for a bit."

I sit back down and Mom pulls a chair up to the table. At the last moment, as she sits down between us, she says, "I hope you guys don't mind."

"We don't have a choice, do we?" I ask knowingly.

"You're right, you don't."

I sense Luke's arrival a second before he is beside the table, a certain charge in the air making my head turn. He frowns down at us and says, "Are you really going to just sit here all day? I could use this table."

"Excuse me," Mom says, poking his arm. "Hungry person here."

"Why don't you get your own table?"

"Well, because I like this one."

"This is messing up the table turn-over," Luke complains. "Your kid and whomever she is with have been here for over an hour. That completely messes up the turn-over."

"What turn-over?" Mom demands lightly. "Luke, half of your place is empty. You don't need turn-over."

"Those tables are open _because of_ turn-over."

He is pointing absurdly at the empty tables and Mom reaches up and pushes his arm down, shaking her head. "You need to chill out, Luke. And I'll have a coffee and waffles."

"Fine," he sighs.

"Well, I want to hear the whole story," Mom demands once Luke returned to the kitchen. "And don't even think of leaving anything out."

I tell her the whole story, even the embarrassing parts, and she is an enraptured audience. Not that I expected anything less, though. She asks the appropriate questions at the most inappropriate times. Once again, not that I expected anything less. This is Lorelai Gilmore, after all. When I get to the part where I find Logan she asks him, "Why did you come all the way to Stars Hollow?"

"It's a nice place to be when you're unhappy."

"You can say that again," she agrees. "It's like a big pint of ice cream when you're on the downward spiral. Especially this place."

"It really does have good coffee," Logan notes.

"It does. So, how did you end up shacking up at Miss Patty's. And Logan, don't even try to deny that it wasn't your idea."

"It wasn't his," I attest. "The idea was all mine."

"Why in the world would you go to Miss Patty's? Who knows what she's done there at night with her husbands."

"I didn't want to go back to Yale."

"You could have come home," Mom spells out slowly. "There's no door charge, you know."

"I know," I retort. "Miss Patty's just felt like the place to be."

"Were you drunk?"

"Slightly buzzed," I admit.

"That explains it. Nothing like drunken debauchery at Miss Patty's."

"Nothing happened, " I argue, and Mom tells me, "Oh, I know. Miss Patty informed me that all underwear was intact."

"So, does this mean that the whole town knows?"

Mom points at the window at Taylor's candy shoppe and I notice, for the first time, a crowd watching us. None other than Babette is in the middle, giving an inaudible-yet telling enough-yelp when she sees me look directly at her.

"Oh, the town definitely knows," I mumble.

Luke comes to the table and sets the waffles in front of Mom along with her coffee. He glances at the overly populated window and makes a sound that is akin to a growl before stalking out of the diner. Mom, Logan, and I watch him with mounting interest and before we know it, he is on the other side of the glass. While we cannot hear the words coming out of his mouth, the expression on his face says enough and we watch with glee (at least Mom and I do) as the crowd grudgingly dissipates. Luke comes back to our table and mutters, "Stupid idiots. Do you need anything else?"

"More coffee, please," I say happily.

"Sure," he grumbles.

As I watch him ramble back over to the counter, I can't help but think that some things will never change. And that is a comforting thought.

**A/N: Okay, first off, thank you for reading- of course. You are my readers and I kinda like you. However, the lack of reviews for the past few chapters has been a bit puzzling. If you are reading and enjoying this PLEASE review. It's much more fun to work on a well-received story….**

**The drama starts up again next chapter with a new character. So-GET EXCITED!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**** Thank you for all the reviews! Here is the newest chapter……**

Something's Missing

Christmastime means one thing, and one thing only, to Gilmores, and that is Emily Gilmore's apple tarts. My mother has dedicated entire songs to those tarts. I myself have dreamt of their sugary goodness-some of them slightly pornographic, but I won't expand on that. The fact of the matter is, these tarts are pretty damn spectacular.

This is precisely why my mother and I are less than cheerful on December 20th, seated in the rigid chairs surrounding Emily Gilmore's dining room table. There are stuffy foods like pheasant and Yorkshire pudding (surprisingly tasty considering the name) and even Logan next to me with his hand inching higher up my leg every second does not improve my mood. You see, when we were all seated a delicate piece of parchment paper resided beside our name-card with flowing calligraphy. The hard to read script (something my mother reminds grandma of every year) showed each course. Dessert is listed as fruit compote served with vanilla bean ice cream. There is also chocolate pudding listed which I initially assume is a mistake, until I see a bowl of it in the kitchen. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with fruit compote, ice cream, or chocolate pudding. I love ice cream. I love pudding. And I've never tried fruit compote but Logan tells me that it has a lot of sugar in it.

I just want a damn apple tart.

I can tell that Mom is thinking the same thing as she stares forlornly at the ice cream being placed in front of her. The dinner plates had been cleared while I silently fleshed through exactly why I was so bothered and now desert is being served. Logan doesn't seem too disgruntled as he digs into his fruit compote. But he doesn't know any better. I was raised on those tarts. Born and bred on them.

"If you don't want yours, I'll have it," Logan says after noticing that I haven't touched my dessert. Feeling a sudden urge to protect my food I lean forward and tell him, "I want it."

"Okay, then eat it."

I greedily push the dessert into my mouth and while it is good, I still miss my tarts.

It's Logan and my first Christmas together, a marker not only of our first holiday but three months together, as well. There was no real change once our relationship became an honest one. People had already thought we were dating and the only difference was that they were now correct. He still walked me to my classes and I still kissed him and felt the dormant butterflies in the recesses of my stomach awaken.

I feel kind of bad that our first holiday needs to be tainted by something as disastrous as a lack of apple tarts. It hardly seems fair.

Logan doesn't understand the allure these tarts hold for the Gilmore women (excluding Grandma, of course). While we hide from the rest of the party-not caring to engage in the customary "how are you" and "what are your plans" discussions-he asks me, "What was so great about those tarts?"

This lapse of understanding is so vast that I don't even know where to begin. Just as I prepare myself to explain what I deem unexplainable, my Mom finds us. I enlist her help and she concedes almost immediately.

"It's all in the dough," she explains. "It's flakey, but it doesn't fall apart."

"That's it exactly," I say appreciatively. There's more, though. "It's all in the filling, too. It is the perfect combination of apple and goo."

"Goo?" Logan asks with a bemused grin.

"Logan," I warn, "don't mock what you don't understand."

"I miss the goo," Mom says nostalgically. "It was just so gooey."

"It was," I agree in the same tone.

While Mom and I are reminiscing, Logan staring at us with the same bemused grin, Grandma finds us and ruins the moment. I can tell that she is about to reprimand us, but when she sees Logan her stance softens. I'll never know what sharp remark was on her tongue, although I can come up with a few likely candidates. In the company of Emily Gilmore's newest favorite, Logan Huntzberger, she politely says, "Rory, dear, there is someone you must see. Come with me."

"Mitten," I tell Logan desperately as Grandma pulls me into the party again.

Logan and I came up with a codeword for if either of us wanted to be hastily extricated from a conversation. After much deliberation, and several rejections from yours truly, we settled on "mitten". We figured it was random enough that both of us would know that it wasn't a fluke that it came up in conversation. I also found it endlessly amusing.

At this word Logan nods and I pray that this means he will come and save me in a few minutes. This prayer becomes fervent when I see the profile of Robert Finnegan. Three years above me, Grandma has the deluded idea that Robert and I are friends. The truth is that he has been chasing me for basically his entire life, minus the three years that I didn't exist. Okay, maybe it has only been for about five years. I hardly think he was dreaming about violating me while we were both still in diapers, but I think I prove my point. He leers a bit when he sees me-something that I am baffled passes Grandma-and then he grins.

"Rory Gilmore," he says smoothly. "It has been too long. How are you?"

Grandma smiles proudly as if she has just reunited two long-lost friends separated by war. I give him a tight smile and say, "I am just fine."

"I see Logan isn't with you."

I catch the insinuation immediately and tell him, "Oh, he's here."

"You two still an item?"

"We're more than an item," I retort icily.

I happen to glance at Grandma and she is still looking at us with this delicate smile and I can't help but wonder how the tension of the conversation evades her. I think the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. And not even a regular knife. A butcher knife, one of the ones they use to split bones to get the marrow out for weird recipes in Julia Child cookbooks.

I wish Logan were there so I could mumble mitten and then skulk off, but instead I stay where I am and watch Robert look me up and down. My Grandma still stands beside me as if nothing were remiss.

"Well, I'll let you two chat," Grandma says cheerily.

She walks away and Robert says, "I heard you dumped Tristan for Logan. Classy."

"Tristan dumped me," I correct icily. "And it's none of your business what I do with my love life."

"Man, that Tristan really is empty in the head. Who the hell would dump you?"

I purse my lips into a frown and tell him, "Well, Robert, that would almost me endearing if you weren't such a creep."

"Ouch."

"Look, I am only here because my Grandma dragged me. So, don't get the wrong idea."

"That's what they all say."

And then he winks.

"Mitten," I say loudly.

"Excuse me?"

Even louder I repeat, "Mitten!"

I don't expect it to work. It's entirely fanciful, completely ludicrous, but miraculously Logan appears beside me and his arm miraculously goes around my waist.

I love mittens.

"Robert," Logan drawls in greeting. "Thanks for keeping my girl busy while I was gone."

"No problem, Huntz."

"Well, we have other people to bore with our not-that-exciting stories," Logan says. "It was nice seeing you, man."

"You, too." His tone changes as he says, "See you later, Rory."

I don't answer but tuck my arm around Logan's waist. He whisks me from the crowd like some white night and we return to our seclusion.

I like seclusion.

Seclusion beats Robert Finnegan any day.

"So, now that we are on Christmas break-"

"Winter break," I correct him. "Political correctness, Logan."

"Sorry, so now that we are on _winter_ break, that means we'll have more time to spend together."

"Not exactly," I say. "I'll be home and you'll be in Hartford. We don't have the convenient ten minute walk between apartments anymore."

"But we have a very convenient twenty minute drive."

"That doesn't sound very convenient."

"All I'm saying is that you can no longer turn down dates with the excuse of 'I have too much to do'."

"I used that once," I argue lightly. "And I really did have a lot to do. I ended up getting very sick the day after that. I was overworked."

"Like horses when they overtrain them?"

"Are you calling me a horse?"

He chuckles and pulls me to him. His lips brush my own and I for one delicious moment I am able to forget about my absent apple tarts. As his lips play against mine I hear a buzz from my purse. I touch his cheek tenderly before looking down at my purse, flipping open the flap (quite a feat considering the intricate clasp) and draw out my cell phone.

"Is that one of your other boyfriends?" Logan teases as I open a new text. I don't answer him because I am too surprised by what I am reading.

_I'm back, Fern._

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRRLRLRLRL

I had this friend when I was little. It was one of those freakishly close friendships where you did everything together from watching movies to eating worms. We met at the ripe age of five and my shyness with his penchant for one-word answers gave our friendship a slow start. He lived with his uncle and when I asked my mom why he didn't have parents she told me, "He has parents, sweetie. They just can't take care of him."

I found this so exotic that I took it upon myself to befriend him immediately. That night when Mom and I went to Luke's I offered him half of my brownie and our fate was sealed. His name was Jess Mariano and I told him that it sounded like a cherry. He didn't take well to his name being targeted so he uttered his first full sentence to me and said, "I don't like you."

I, of course, began to cry. Not only was I a Gilmore but I was one who had never faced rejection in her life and Jess's childish words reduced me to a hiccupping cry. Luke ordered Jess to apologize immediately, but I didn't accept anything until he ran upstairs and came back with a worn copy of Charlotte's Web. I doubt that Jess knew it at the time, but that book was the perfect peace offering. Mom had just begun reading me that book and I had taken an instant liking to the young girl Fern, and of course Charlotte. With the cream colored book in his hands, I took one look at him and offered him the seat next to me.

I know I mentioned this before, but our relationship was freakishly close. It really was. Without much real family, besides Mom, I latched on to everyone around me and he filled a void that I didn't even know I had. He fit perfectly into the life I had built around myself and I couldn't even remember a time without him. He was my best friend, my brother, and eventually much, much more.

Anyway, for all the time that I knew Jess he was being raised by Luke. For all intents and purposes, Luke was his father. Then a week after Jess's eighteenth birthday, this man came to the diner. I noticed immediately that he had Jess's nose, but thought nothing of it. People look alike sometimes, and that's all it is. Jess told me later that it had been his father and that he wanted to take Jess with him to California. A chill had gone through me when Jess explained it all, but I didn't think anything would happen. Jess had grown up in Stars Hollow. It was his home.

Jess always wanted more, though.

A week later I was standing on the sidewalk beside Luke's, waving half-heartedly as Jess drove away.

I haven't seen him since.

I must have made some noise when looked at the text because Logan touches my arm gently and asks, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I say after a moment. "Um, a friend of mine is in."

"In?"

"He's back in Stars Hollow. I, uh, knew him when I was little. Well, uh, actually when I was little and not-little."

"Uh huh."

"I haven't talked to him in three years."

"And he's texting you all of a sudden?"

"I guess."

I can see a response on the tip of his tongue, it's all in the way his eyes blink a bit more than usual, but then Grandma finds us and the moment passes. She looks at me and then Logan before saying, "What are you two doing?"

"I felt sick," I say easily. It's gotten so easy to lie lately. Too easy.

"Yeah, she was pretty shaky."

"But I'm fine now. I think I just needed to sit down."

"You're standing now," Grandma says, showing her ability for insight. I answer, "Yes, I am now. I wasn't before, though. It's a good thing Logan was there. Anyway, it's time for us to return to the party."

"Yes, it is," Grandma agrees. We walk past her into the main room and it sounds like a scene from When Harry Met Sally…. Logan takes my arm and I think to myself that it isn't a scene I mind being in. Besides, there are only a few hours left to the party. A few hours until we leave.

Until I face Jess again.

**A/N: Things are brewing…..**

**Next chapter, more will be revealed about Rory and Jess's relationship. Please review. Think we can make it to 200 this chapter? I think we can :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Bah, this one took me so damn long to write. Believe it or not, I started this about a month ago and just could not figure out how to write it. Regardless, here is the end product and hopefully the next one will come easier. Enjoy!**

This Is An Adult Conversation

I meet Jess at a hookah bar just outside of Stars Hollow. Arab music pulsates in the air when I walk in and he is sitting at a table in the corner, a tall contraption in front of him. Silver and supple, fluted edges lead to a delicate curve with tobacco nestled inside. It resembles a lamp almost, but without any light bulb, a small nozzle replacing the switch. Jess's hand is playing with the mouthpiece, connected to a long tube reaching from the contraption itself. He drops it when he sees me, a nervous smile lighting his features. I sit across from him and his fingers return to the mouthpiece, twirling it again and again between his fingers.

"Hi," he says after a moment of silence.

"Hello."

Neither of us speak for a moment. He's looking intently at my face and I am looking everywhere but his. When the silence becomes too much to bear, I say, "You finally got me to this place."

"I did," he answers with an easier smile. "It only took me, what, five or six years?"

I shrug and tell him, "I'm hard to convince."

"Yes, that you are."

There is an undercurrent to his words that I know he plans on me reading and feeling inadequately prepared for a comment such as that, a meaning behind it too profound to consider, I state the obvious. "So, you're back."

"I am."

"There you are."

His eyes seem to follow mine as I look down at my hands. "Here I am."

While neither of us speak, the expanse of unsaid words seems to grow. The entire ride here, I had thought of what I would say. I had questions. I had confessions. With him in front of me, though, fleshed out with more than memories and pictures, I find myself unable to utter a single word. Jess seems as frozen as me. Instead of speaking he puts the mouthpiece into his mouth and takes a long, slow inhale. Smoke seeps from his mouth and nose as he stares at some indiscernible object above my left shoulder. Wordlessly he offers me the snakelike tube and I gingerly take it, wrapping my lips around the mouthpiece.

"Slowly," he murmurs as I inhale. "Don't rush it."

I feel as if I am floating as the sweetness fills my head. I lower the tube and Jess tells me, "Now, open your mouth."

I obey and smoke curls out of my mouth, his eyes watching mine all the while. I missed those eyes and my head feels as if it is floating inches above my neck. Blinking away the haze that seems to have settled within my eyes, I take in a shaky inhale.

"I can't believe you're back." I say softly, putting the tube back on the table. He catches the slight tremor in my hand and says, "I missed you, Rory."

"I have a boyfriend," I tell him as his hand brushes mine. As he takes the mouthpiece into his mouth again, I am ashamed that my voice had shook. With smoke obscuring his features he answers, "I figured you would. They'd notice you eventually."

"He doesn't know," I tell him, keeping his gaze.

"What's there to know?"

Frustration puts an edge to my words as I answer, "Don't Jess."

"That was a long time ago," he says in response.

"Well, he still doesn't know. And I want to keep it that way."

"Would he care?"

I think about it for a moment and come to the conclusion that he wouldn't. Logan is not one to judge, but I had seen enough of his jealous side to be wary. "I just don't think that it is necessary for him to know. I want him to like you, and if he knew, well, that would not help things."

"Is the tobacco going to your head?" Jess jokes. "Boyfriends never like me."

"Dean was overprotective," I argue. "And we were sixteen. Things are different now. I'm in a mature relationship."

"Your boyfriend will not like me. I can guarantee that, whether he knows about that night or not."

That night.

He says it so callously. That night. I have to keep myself from wincing as he takes another long draw from the hookah, shrugging when he catches me staring. "It happened, Ror, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

He takes another draw and I retreat to my memories.

It was the night before he left.

I was sitting on his bed, watching him pack. I remember thinking that all he had were band shirts and old flannel ones from Luke. He must have had ten of each that he shoved into his suitcase with characteristic flippantness. It wasn't until he packed socks that I began to cry. He was my best friend and the thought of losing him was too much, it reduced me to a state that I have yet to experience again. I remember he sat next to me on his bed and put his arm around my shoulders. I didn't stop crying for a good ten minutes and he tenderly kissed my cheeks, my forehead, and then I kissed his lips. It had been so easy, to move from cheek to mouth, effortless even. It was simple to settle on my back, to push up the thin material of his shirt. In fact, if took no effort at all, not one minute of it.

I told him that I loved him afterwards. He didn't say it back, but I knew that he did. I could feel it in the way that he held me, his body flush against mine so that I could feel the gentle beat of his heart against my back.

"You loved me," Jess says, pulling me from the room above the diner back to reality. "And now you love him?"

"Yes," I answer without hesitation.

"That's good," he says after a moment. "Look, Rory, I didn't come back for you or anything. You know me; I don't do grand gestures. I just missed home, I guess."

"You hated Stars Hollow," I remind him with a small smile. His eyes are serious as he tells me, "Well, you'd be surprised how much you can miss something when you're away from it."

I avoid the fact that this clearly refers to me and instead focus on the table. I study the surface, my eyes lingering on a deep crack beside Jess' hand.

"So," he says after a moment. "When am I going to meet him?"

RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL-RL

Perfection is unattainable. As a child out of wedlock, the notion of perfection is unfathomable. There is always a flaw, some imperfection. Nestled in his arms, though, the zipper of his Brooks Brothers sweater cool under my fingers, I am witness to something as close to perfection as I will ever get.

"How was your lunch with Jess?" He asks, his voice housing not even a hint of accusation. I have spent so many years growing accustomed to the sound of accusation and his utter lack of it speaks more to me than any words he could say. I run my finger over the zipper on his sweater and say, "It was fine."

"A hookah place, huh? I would pay to see you do one of those. You know, Ace, it's almost like a drug."

I smile at his mocking and retort, "Well, you won't see me do one. I never am going again. I think I'm still coughing from it."

"Amateur."

"You've done it?"

He nods and his chin brushes against my head.

"Finn liked a girl at one, once. He made us go there just about every night."

"Did he get the girl?"

Logan laughs. "Nah, Finn never gets the girl."

"That's sad," I say after a moment, burrowing my head further into his chest. After thinking a bit, though, I wonder if Finn even cares. Logan answers my silent question and says, "Finn doesn't really mind. There's always a new conquest for him. I think he likes the chase more than anything else, actually. I don't think he would know what to do if a girl actually said yes. Anyway, tell me about your lunch. You hardly said anything about it."

I can't help but think to myself that there are reasons I am staying silent, but I don't want him to read too much into said silence so I tell him, "It was fine. We had a lot to talk about, so that is what we did. Talk."

"Talk."

I nod.

"What did you talk about?"

"Logan," I sigh.

"What? Is it that bad for me to be curious?"

"I've had bad experiences with curious," I say, jabbing his chest. "Can you just accept that what we talked about had nothing to do with you."

Lies.

"Fine, I guess. So, when am I going to meet him?"

"Whenever you want," I say, hoping that his answer will be never. Instead he says, "How does tomorrow night sound?"

"He's probably busy," I answer.

"Well, text him. Then we'll know for sure."

I don't want to but I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and send Jess a text. I consider putting in a small plea for him to say he is busy, but refrain when I find myself thinking that it would be dishonest towards Logan. And I'm being dishonest enough. I send the text with a yielding tap of my finger and roughly thirty seconds later Jess texts me back.

"He's free," I say in a voice that I hope doesn't sound too defeated.

"Don't sound so cheery, Ace."

"Where are we going to go?"

"I was thinking The Pub."

The thought of Jess in The Pub immediately strikes me as wrong so I shake my head and say, "No, not The Pub."

"Why not? Does Jess have something against food and beer?"

"I just don't think he would like it."

"It's food and beer, Ace. What's not to like?"

"Um, a lot. For one, all the stuck-up people that go there."

"Are you calling us stuck-up? Because I take offense to that."

I raise myself up on my elbows so that he can see my face and continue. "The waitresses always flirt with you."

"And then I make sure to cop a feel in front of them. It all balances out."

"Logan."

"You know I only want you, Ace."

"That's beside the point. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Fine, where else would you like to go?"

"I was thinking maybe Luke's."

Logan holds my gaze for a moment, not speaking. I can see he is trying to think of something that would make me change my mind. He usually succeeds in that, but today I a mountain, completely unmovable. The truth is, The Pub is part of my new life, my life with him. Having Jess there would change things. Suddenly it would become a part of my life with Jess, and I didn't like those two separate lives meeting. They are meant to be separate. Things are just easier that way.

Finally he says, "Luke's is great."

RLRLRLRLRLRLRL

The one great thing about having a mom like Lorelai Gilmore is that she always knows when you are in too deep to even know that you are drowning. I don't know how she can tell. Maybe my left eye brow starts to twitch or I sleep-text her during the night. The only thing I know is that when I came home this weekend, she was waiting at the front door with When Harry Met Sally… in hand and a large vat of coffee.

"We're going to Luke's," I tell her after we have settled on the couch. Harry and Sally have just begun their trip to New York and I have just begun relating my problems to my mom.

"At least you'll have good coffee."

"I haven't told Logan that Jess and I slept together. I just feel like it will complicate things, you know. I love Logan and I'm so afraid that something will happen if I tell him."

"Babe, I'm sure he's slept with other people, too."

"But this is different. It wasn't random with Jess. It meant something. I feel like that would make a difference to Logan."

"I wouldn't keep it from him, Rory. You can't have a relationship built on little secrets. Take it from someone who made that mistake."

"But what if I'm doing it for his own good?"

One look and I know that there is no available loop hole. I have to tell him.

RLRLRLRLRLRLRLRLRL

"Jess and I slept together."

The look on Logan's face tells me that I have not thought this through. And my blurting this out on the way to the dinner where Logan is going to meet Jess for the first time was probably not wise.

"Wait, what?"

We come to a halt in front of Miss Patty's and a group of just released dance students move around us like a herd of ants.

"Jess and I slept together."

A little girl in a tutu knocks into my leg as I say this and when she looks up with her pert little nose I say, "This is an adult conversation."

Logan makes a noise that is a cross between a groan and a sigh before he grabs my arm and pulls me to the side of the studio. Separated from the sea of tutus he asks me, "You and Jess slept together?"

"Yes."

"Rory-"

"But it was a long time ago." I move to touch his arm but he recoils from my touch. Feeling desperate I continue, "It meant nothing. Well, it did, but it means nothing now."

"Why are you telling me this now? Right before I have to meet him?"

"Because I thought you should know." I test my hand on his shoulder and feel a shred of hope when he doesn't move. "We're in a relationship and we shouldn't have secrets."

"Ace," he sighs.

"I didn't want to keep it from you."

He doesn't speak for a moment but his eyes study my face. Finally he asks, "Was he good to you?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean, Ace."

At first I didn't, but understanding hits me swiftly and my cheeks stain red as I say, "Yeah, he was."

He nods, more to himself than anything, and then clenches his jaw in a way that makes me both hopeful and despondent. After a paralyzing moment of silence he rakes a hand through his hair and says, "I really don't want to meet him now."

"There's more," I tell him.

"Do I want to know?"

"You don't really have a choice. He was my first."

"Your first?"

I don't think he understands and when I begin to explain he tells me, "No, Ace, I know what it means."

"Oh."

"So, he was your first."

I nod.

"And now I have to sit through an entire meal with him."

I nod.

Rubbing his jaw in a manner that looks painful he says, "Ace, you're killing me here."

"I'm sorry, babe. I just didn't want to keep it from you any longer."

I gingerly touch his cheek and hold my breath as he turns into my hand, pressing his lips gently against my palm. I know it must be hard for him to know he was meeting my first. I know that I wouldn't want to meet his. Hell, I wouldn't want to meet anyone he slept with.

I look up at him and caught up in the moment I say, "I love you."

"I know."

Feeling both surprised and a bit chagrined I say, "But I never said it."

"I could just tell."

"How?"

He kisses me gently and murmurs, "Because I love you, too."

We share this little smile that I can't imagine sharing with anyone else and then he takes my hand and we head toward Luke's. My stomach turns with anticipation when we reach Luke's. I can see Jess sitting at what he knows is my favorite table, but when I look up at Logan and see the straight cut of his nose, the anticipations ebbs. We stop at the door and he squeezes my hand.

"Let's have a codeword in case this goes bad," he says.

"It won't."

"Just in case," he says.

"Fine."

"We'll use mitten again."

I roll my eyes but as we walk in and Jess' dark mass of hair turns toward us, every piece of me is screaming.

Mitten.

**A/N: Next chapter will be dinner. And yes, awkward moments shall ensue.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you for your feedback.**

Walking Through Molasses

It starts out poorly.

How so, you ask? Well, Jess chooses to order for me when Luke comes to the table and I can feel Logan stiffen beside me.

And, Jess' first words to Logan were not exactly what I had expected.

Or wanted.

"Another blonde," he said. "And you look like you have a trust fund, too."

When you start with a comment like that, the slow deterioration of whatever dream you had for the evening is imminent.

It is for me.

I have to give Logan, credit. He tries, making inane chit chat about things that I know for a fact don't interest Jess. But, at least he's trying.

Jess doesn't. All he does is sit there while subtly flaunting the close relationship we once shared. It makes me uncomfortable and I can tell by the tightness of Logan's jaw that he feels the same.

"Rory and I have a lot of history," Jess says, leaning back in his chair. His eyes meet mine as he repeats, "A lot of history."

"Yeah, I heard," Logan answers smoothly. "Rory told me."

"She did, did she?"

Babette suddenly appears at the table and I could not be happier. She looks at me with her wide eyes and enthuses, "Look at you, Rory, dining with two fellas. You take after your ma, huh?"

"You've met Logan, right?"

"No, sugar, but I've heard of him." Babette looks at Logan and then returns her attention to Rory. Leaning forward just enough to appear secretive she says, "He's a looker, sweetie. I can just imagine your children. Beautiful!"

"Why, thank you Babette," Logan says and without looking at him I can tell he is smiling.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," she tells him in an indulgent voice. "But, I don't mind that you did."

Logan says something flattering and I watch Babette melt like a stick of butter in the August sun. With a partial smile I remind her, "Your husband's name is Maury."

"What?" Catching herself she laughs heartily, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh, Maury, that man can do remarkable things with those fingers of his."

Logan blanches as she finishes, "He's a wonder on the piano."

Having seen Logan's face, I laugh into my hand and then say, "He sure does, Babette."

"Well, I won't bother you kids anymore. Enjoy your dinner, sweetheart."

"Thanks Babette."

She rambles off and Luke comes over with our food. He puts a burger in front of me and Jess and then gives Logan his salad. Jess eyes him with bemusement and mutters, "Chick food."

"I'm secure enough with my manhood to order a salad," Logan retorts. I steady him with a hand on his knee. Jess answers, "Doesn't mean it's not chick food."

"How about this burger," I say suddenly. "It looks bigger than my mouth."

"Like that ever stopped you," Jess teases. "You should see the things this girl gets into her mouth."

If my mother were present she would have blurted out "dirty" quicker than you can say "hand soap", but since Lorelai Gilmore is safely in the Gilmore house, there is no such comment. Instead I offer a paltry laugh while Logan does nothing more than take a very tense sip of his coffee.

"So, Logan, you go to Yale, too?" Jess asks after a very large bite of his burger. He hasn't chewed completely as he asks this and I swallow uncomfortably. Jess' manners were never polished but they seem terribly tarnished next to Logan's pedigree.

"Yeah," Logan answers. I think that he's given up trying and I can't really blame him.

"You the same grade?"

"No, I'm a year above."

Jess peers at him for a moment, his dark eyes studying him. Finally he says, "You look old."

"I'm twenty-two."

I see Jess process the information, can see him spinning our demise as clearly as if he were saying it aloud. Jess is all to good at picking up subtleties and he says, "Doesn't that make you too old to only be a junior?"

"I had a bit of a vacation after my freshman year," Logan answers smoothly. "Cleared my head, so to speak."

Jess snorts and it doesn't sound kind.

"I'm rooming with Paris," I offer, giving Jess too bright of a smile. "You remember her, right?"

"Scary Nazi lady?" Jess asks.

Even Logan laughs at this.

"She's not that bad."

"She threatened to grill my balls and serve them for lunch once," Jess deadpans. I know exactly what he is talking about and laugh at the memory. Jess had made me cry over something. It was something stupid-in fact, I can't really remember what it actually was that I was upset over. Anyway, I told Paris about it at Chilton and she drove all the way to Stars Hollow and threatened Jess into apologizing.

Our friendship was pretty much solidified with that.

"You know, I would have apologized anyway," Jess says.

Logan looks between us and asks, "Apologize for what?"

I look at Jess for clarification and he seems to look at me for it, as well. After a moment we both burst into laughter.

"I have no idea," I blurt out.

"Me either," he says. "Well, must not have been that bad."

Jess and I exchange this smile that I don't mean to be conspiring but I'm sure it seems that way to Logan. He shifts uncomfortably next to me and crams a cherry tomato into his mouth.

Logan doesn't even like tomatoes.

"This is awful," Logan manages after swallowing. His face is scrunched up, his eyes have this watery look to them and I think that I have never loved him more than at this moment.

"You don't like tomatoes," I remind him.

"You're right, I don't."

"Then why'd you eat it," Jess asks, stating the obvious that all of us have pointedly ignored.

Logan shrugs. "Something to do."

We finish lunch in much the same manner. Jess becomes a bit more friendly toward Logan but his chilly demeanor remains. I try not to take it personally. Jess is generally not a particularly warm person but I can't help but begin to dread what he will say once Logan leaves.

I try to imagine him telling me that Logan is a great guy, that he thinks we fit. When that doesn't work I try to imagine him simply saying Logan wasn't as bad as he thought he would be.

I can't imagine either.

In fact, the only thing I can really imagine is Jess telling me that I am making a mistake. I can see it written all over his face, the plea he is going to give me afterward for me to leave Logan. I can almost hear his list of reasons for why Logan is entirely wrong for me.

And there will be a list.

If Jess and I agree on one thing, it is our mutual love of lists. And I am positive that his anit-Logan list is growing as we speak.

The time comes for lunch to be over and Logan lays a twenty on the table. He had offered to spot the entire bill and I was surprised when Jess didn't protest. I couldn't decide whether this was a positive or negative sign.

We all stand up and there is the awkward moment when I stand in suspension, unsure of which way to go.

"I gotta run," Logan says to my relief. "My dad's having some guy over and he wants me to have drinks with them."

"Only two now," I tease, raising on my tip toes to give him a quick kiss. "Three tops, Huntzberger."

"You hurt my ego, Ace," he answers. "My words don't slur until five."

I turn to Jess and tell him that I am going to walk Logan to his car. He nods and then looks at Logan. I fear for a moment that he is going to do something rude but then he extends his hand and says, "It was nice to meet you."

"You too, man."

Their handshake isn't as hearty as I would have hoped, but it suffices. After offering Jess a quick wave I take Logan's arm and walk with him to his car. It's only a block away and before I know it I am kissing him goodbye and then walking back to Luke's, feeling a mounting sense of dread as I walk in. He's waiting for me, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee.

"I got you one, too," he says when I sit next to him. The mug is steaming hot and before I take a sip I tell him, "You know me too well."

"I do," he agrees and I can tell that there is a second part to this statement. He doesn't speak for a moment and I take several sips of coffee, almost thinking that I have escaped his trademark scrutiny.

"What are you doing, Rory?" He finally asks.

The diner is dead now and I wish fervently for a Babette intrusion. Even Kirk, I would take anyone to save me from this conversation. I don't have a choice, though. If anything, Jess is direct, and I know that nothing but a direct answer with satiate him.

"I love him."

"You two couldn't be any more different."

I laugh at this. "No Jess, we couldn't be any more similar."

"I heard what happened with that Tristan guy. Luke was infuriated by it. He kept saying how you were just like your mother with guys."

I look down at the coffee, feeling my anger piqued. I resolve to stay calm. Bursts of emotion or anger never impressed Jess and I would not sully my stance on Logan with either.

"Logan is nothing like Tristan," I tell him levelly. "You don't know him like I do."

"You don't belong in his world. You never have, Rory. I remember how much you used to hate that world. When we were little you used to do anything to escape it. What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me, Jess. I grew up. I realized that my grandparent's world isn't hell and that this," I gesture around us, "is not heaven. Things aren't so black and white, Jess. Yes, there are things that I don't agree with in terms of _high society_ and even Logan. But, you learn to deal with those things. Nothing's perfect, but it's good enough for me."

"So, you've abandoned everything?" His voice is surprisingly cruel. "Youv'e given up everything you stood for because some pretty boy waves his hand in front of you?"

"You didn't even give him a chance," I answer. "The entire lunch you were on the offensive. He tried, Jess. He really tried and all you did was insult him every chance you got."

"I treat people the way they deserve to be treated."

I gape at him, wondering where the boy I used to love was. I always knew that Jess was judgmental but this was something entirely different.

I stand up suddenly and push my stool back into the counter with a loud clang. Luke rushes out from the kitchen with is spatula half-raised.

"What's going on?" He demands, his eyes moving from Jess to me and then back to Jess.

"Nothing, I was just leaving."

As I leave I hear Luke snap, "What's wrong with you?"

I pull out my phone and call Logan. It rings a couple times and I almost think that he isn't going to answer. Then I hear his voice, his beautiful voice that calms my angry heart.

"Ace-"

"I love you," I say.

"What's wrong?" He asks immediately. I wasn't in the habit of calling to just say that I loved him and I'm sure my voice sounded odd, labored. "Do you need me to come back?"

"No, no, of course not. I just wanted to tell you that."

There is a long pause. "Did Jess say something?"

"Yes."

"He doesn't like me." It's not a question but a statement.

"No."

Another pause. "We're okay, though."

"Yes," I tell him, wishing that I could see him, touch him. "We're more than okay."

"Okay," he says. "That's all that matters."

"You're right."

I'm home now and I walk into the house. It smells like chocolate chip cookies, so it doesn't surprise me when Sookie walks out of the kitchen and smiles at me.

"So, are you okay now?" Logan asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I love you."

Sookie grins as I say, "Love you, too. Bye."

I hang up and Sookie knowingly asks, "Was that Logan?"

I nod and follow her into the kitchen. There are several trays of cookies cooling on the kitchen table. I consider asking her why she was baking at our house but with experience I know that often there is no logic to Sookie's actions. Instead, I reach forward and take a cookie from the trays.

"Careful," she says when I take a bite. The cookie is hot and I feel it burn my tongue.

"Hot," I say in a strangled voice, chewing uncomfortably.

"Well, that's what you get for grabbing cookies off the tray. They have to cool off."

My several cups of coffee weigh heavily in my stomach and I tell Sookie that the cookies are delicious-despite being piping hot- and move to the bathroom. After using the bathroom, I catch sight of reflection and notice how pale I am. My cheeks have absolutely no color and my hair has is all mussed up from the wind. There is a smudge of chocolate at the corner of my mouth and my tongue darts out to catch it. I spend a second more staring at my pallid face and then return to the kitchen.

**A/N: Any thoughts? Let me know!**


End file.
